


A King should never strike his Lady

by phylos



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-05 02:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13378242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phylos/pseuds/phylos
Summary: The plot goes roughly in the same directions, only with ramifications caused by two changes:Joffrey is still very much a sociopathic tyrant, but he takes the words in the title as iron law so he never mistreats Sansa, and only Sansa, in any way.Certain thing happens to Sansa a little earlier than in canon.





	1. Joffrey I

He woke up with a start. His dream had been about what had happened the night before, so he tried to go back to sleep, but it proved impossible. He was about to take care of himself when the persistent and deafening knocking at his door returned.

"Joffrey! Open! This! Door! NOW!" It was uncle Tyrion, punctuating every word with a slam on the door.

He had barely slept and, in his tiredness, he had half a mind to throw his uncle to the dungeons. Alas, he stood up and walked to his door, hoping his predicament wasn't visible and expecting the dwarf to explain really well why he had woken the King up.

Each step towards the door felt like an eternity. As soon as he opened, the Imp darted into the room and circled it surprisingly fast for someone with such short legs, it seemed as if the dwarf was looking for something. He was in the King's room, trespassing into the King's room; that wouldn't do.

"What do you think you're doing in my chambers?!" He yelled, letting the door close behind him. That was a mistake. As soon as the door was closed, his uncle turned towards him, closed the distance and slapped him so hard across the face that he stumbled towards the wall.

"What have you done?" The Imp asked. He sounded much angrier than usual.

He was about to threaten the little monster for slapping him but, as soon as the lights that had appeared in his eyes cleared, he saw that his uncle was furious so he thought better of it.

"What in the seven hells are you talking about?" He demanded, rubbing his cheek as he walked to his bed.

"Don't spar with me, you idiot," Tyrion spat. "What happened with Sansa yesterday?"

That sobered him up right away, he felt the color draining from his face and he even forgot about the pain in his cheek. The dwarf knew. But he _couldn't_ know. Nobody was supposed to know. He walked towards his basin and splashed water on his face, trying to tell himself he wasn't stalling for time.

"I..." He hesitated, still looking away. He was starting to feel chided and that wouldn't do, he was King. "I don't have to explain myself to you!"

No sooner he had finished saying his deflecting words as he felt another slap, this time in the back of his neck. The pain was so stinging that he grunted out a string of curses. In retrospect, he should've seen it coming; not that he should be bothered to understand annoying dwarves.

"Oh, but you _will_ explain yourself to me. Speak," Tyrion ordered, rubbing his hand.

Once the pain subsided, he turned around. He looked at the monster with all the hatred he could muster before looking away, defeated.

"I... I visited her chambers," he choked out, finally looking towards his uncle as he sat on his bed.

This time it was Tyrion's turn to pale and look terrified. The dwarf put his hand on his bedside table, as if for support, and asked in a small voice, "Did you... did you rape her?"

"What?!" That was a severe affront to his honor. How could the dwarf think...? He stood back up and walked towards the little monster, pointing a finger at him. "A king must never harm his lady! You ever suggest something like that again and I'll have your ton..."

Another slap, in the cheek that hadn't been slapped yet. He dropped back on his bed, rubbing his face with both hands.

"Fuck! Stop that!" He whined. He was tearing up, embarrassing himself further, and tried to blink the tears back. He succeeded, fortunately; the imp would not get the satisfaction of making him cry.

"I asked you a question, nephew." His uncle's voice was dangerously low.

"I didn't rape her!" He exclaimed. "I went to visit her to confirm she hadn't been harmed in the riot, I thought that was my duty. She was fine. Then she was touching me so I thought she wanted me to kiss her because I had already kissed her once, a while ago. Then... then..."

"Then. What." Tyrion ground his teeth as he spat each word with visible anger.

"I remembered! My mother told me that she had had her blood a week ago. I thought that's why she was touching me so... so..." He wasn't about to give details to the depraved little creature. He looked at the imp with disgust and continued, his voice still whiny. He hated that too. "She didn't say no! And then she said 'again'! Another six times!"

There wasn't much else he could say besides going into details; he hoped that that would be enough. For some reason he was feeling embarrassed and he was blushing the color of the Lannister banner. He was going to punish the imp for making him feel that way.

Tyrion, for his part, looked genuinely shocked now. "Seven... Seven hells. Well, that explains why you were in her chambers for so long. But that's not the entire story, is it, nephew? I know where you two went afterwards."

"How do you even know all this?!" He demanded, furious.

"It's not like you two were discreet, you didn't even tell her guard to leave while you were there with her," Tyrion deadpanned.

"I will have his head." He couldn't believe his guards would betray him, their own king.

"No, you won't. Your guard was merely an example of your lack of care, idiot." He shot another vicious look at the imp for the insult. Tyrion ignored him. "I didn't actually hear it from him, but that's beside the point. If you bothered to at least meet your Small Council you'd know you have a Master of Whisperers."

He just looked at the imp, frowning in confusion.

"A Spymaster, you imbecile. Varys, remember?"

He always saw the eunuch around court and just now noticed that he had never been sure what he did. He had assumed he was just a lackey of some lord. He nodded to his uncle as reply.

"Well, nothing happens in this city without Varys hearing about it," the dwarf commented matter-of-factly.

"I will put that old creep's head on a spike. I commanded him not to tell anyone," he muttered, grinding his teeth.

"The septon didn't tell Varys anything," Tyrion pointed out, looking bored. "It was just too easy to deduct and your reaction has now confirmed it."

He blushed again, cursing that he didn't think of a cover story. But then again, he shouldn't have to think one, he was king. His mood was growing fouler by the second.

Tyrion continued with his inquiry. Now the dwarf was the one looking deflated, oddly enough. "Lady Stark is no longer Lady Stark, is she?"

Joffrey looked away again and shook his head once. "I had to protect her honor. She told me."

"Well, well, well," Tyrion mused, he seemed to be talking more to himself than to Joffrey. "Our new Queen seems to be more clever than anyone expected. You might do well in listening to her every now and then."

He looked at the imp, livid at the suggestion of how to rule and at the ridiculous idea of his having to listen to a _woman_. The imp knew nothing about ruling or women. Kings like him were the ones who knew how to rule and ladies like Sansa existed just to be pretty and to bear the King's children. Stupid dwarf.

Deciding to ignore what he was sure was a jape, he stood back up, feeling impatient. While pacing back and forth, he asked, "What is the damn problem anyway? She was my betrothed, we were to marry so we did."

"Speaking of queens," Tyrion continued his previous thought, pretending not to have heard him. "Get dressed, we're going to see your mother."

"Why?" He stopped walking to ask. What did his mother have to do with anything?

Tyrion, for the first time, smiled. It was a sardonic, evil smile that scared him as much as any of the little monster's slaps. Whatever the beast was thinking, it couldn't be good. "Because there _is_ a damn big problem, but she's sure as all hells not hearing about it from _me_."

Fifteen minutes later, they were entering his mother's chambers. The queen was eating her breakfast.

"My love, how good to see you so early this morning," she greeted, seemingly not noticing her brother.

"Good morning, moth..." He was interrupted by the annoying dwarf, rude as always.

"Yes, yes, she's your mother and he's your precious little darling," Tyrion said with scorn, ignoring similarly annoyed looks. Joffrey was running out of anger now at the imp's insults. He hoped he'd learn to ignore them, but then wondered if he should even ignore them instead of ripping the imp's tongue out for his impertinence.

The dwarf, however, was still talking, "Come on, dear nephew, tell your mother why we're here."

There was that smile again. Usually, he wouldn't care about telling his mother what he did, she almost always approved and, even if she didn't, he could just ignore her, he was king. But there was something in the dwarf's smile making him apprehensive. He tried to ignore the monster and focus on his mother, who was looking at him with curiosity.

"I married Sansa last night," he said simply.

His mother's expression froze, with the exact same curious glint and the exact same small smile, only her eyes turned glassy. It was honestly comical, but for some reason he didn't laugh. Maybe it was just something women did. After a minute or so, his mother seemed to gather her wits: she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and looked alternatively between the king -still unsure of whether he should laugh or not- and the dwarf beside him.

"Excuse me, what?" She finally asked, addressing the dwarf.

Now she was ignoring him and that wouldn't do. "What is the fucking problem?! She was my betrothed and the king can do as..."

"As he likes, yes," Tyrion interrupted, not even bothering to look at him. The imp's gaze instead trained on his sister, eyebrows raised. "And the royal cock might have just doomed us all!"

His mother's eyes darted back and forth before she said, a pang of fear in her voice, "I'm afraid I still don't follow."

"Your precious little darling here," Tyrion explained, ignoring Joffrey's bristling at being called that. "Went into his betrothed's bed last night, despoiled her -seven times apparently- and then married her."

 "Oh, no. Oh, no..." The queen repeated, rubbing her temples.

His patience finally ran out. "If neither of you explains why is it a problem for the king to marry his betrothed, I swear I will have you both whi..."

"Listen you little idiot." That was his mother, surprising him. "You were not supposed to marry Sansa Stark anymore."

He felt all the air leaving his lungs. "Wh... what?"

"We got a raven last night. From your grandfather," Cersei explained, looking similarly deflated.

Now he was afraid. Even if he was king, for some reason he had always been scared of Tywin. He cleared his throat and asked, "And what did it say?"

"Oh, a few things," The imp answered, looking annoyed. "The most important part is that, with Renly Baratheon gone, the Tyrells have chosen to ally with us... Under the condition that Margaery Tyrell gets to marry you."

He felt a cold fear running down his back, that _was_ a problem. The night before came back to his mind, and he shook his head. He focused back in the situation at hand. "Why wasn't I informed of this?"

"Because it arrived late at night and, as nobody had seen you since early afternoon, we assumed you were too shaken by the riot and had had an early night. We were planning on informing you right about now," Tyrion explained, he looked at Joffrey as if he wanted to mock the king, but then the imp just looked defeated. That in itself only served to worry Joffrey more. "Woe would befall me when Varys told me this morning what his little birds informed him about you. It seems almost like a joke of the gods that _you_ were fucking Sansa at the same time _we_ found out you weren't supposed to."

Yet another hit to the face. Only this time it was a punch and it was the king's hand striking the Hand of the King. All three present seemed shocked at what Joffrey had just done, but his anger was now boiling and, glaring at his uncle with murder in his eyes, he spoke, "You will never, _ever_ , refer to my lady... my queen, in those terms again. Understood?"

The fact that he didn't actually insult Tyrion, leaving the threat in polite words, made it all the more real. Tyrion, who had dropped to the floor, just looked at Joffrey in complete shock. Before either of the men could say anything else, the queen mother spoke.

"Your... your queen, darling?" She asked, looking at her son with trepidation.

"She's my wife, that makes her my queen. And my queen's honor will be respected," Joffrey spat, still glaring at Tyrion.

"But, my son," Cersei said, beseeching him as she stood up from her table. "You're supposed to marry the Tyrell girl."

"I am already married. It's too late for that," Joffrey declared with finality. He noticed that his mother was walking towards him and, not in the mood to be mothered, he walked away, going towards the window.

"So it is," Tyrion said, still rubbing the side of his face. There was something in his voice that made Joffrey turn around and, indeed, the Imp's eyes were looking at his nephew with something resembling pride. Joffrey looked away, not knowing what to make of the expression.

"But without the Tyrells," his uncle continued, "there's the real possibility that Stannis will kill us all."

"We could have the marriage annulled," Cersei offered.

He remembered the previous night again and spoke before even realizing it, "No, Sansa is my wife and she will stay my wife. I won't hear anything that remotely sounds like the idea of Sansa _not_ being my wife." He turned towards them and whispered, in a soft voice that was heard across the room, "If my wife dies, in any kind of 'accident', I will have every single person living in this castle fed to the rats."

He wouldn't put it pass the Imp -or his mother for that matter- to do something like that because _he_ wouldn't have a problem with having the inconvenience killed, if the inconvenience weren't his wife.

"Fine," Cersei sighed, falling back on her chair. "What do you suppose we do with the Tyrells and Stannis Baratheon, then?"

He truly didn't have an answer to that one; he stared outside the window again, considering his options. Finally, he said, "Uncle, you said earlier that I should pay more attention to the Small Council. You're part of the small council, what counsel do you have for me?"

There was a pause, his uncle was probably thinking of what to say.

"Well, if there's no way you will marry the Tyrell girl..." He balled up his fists and the imp evidently noticed, because he continued, speaking more quickly. "Then I suppose we could lie. The Tyrell army is very far. In the state things are, they will never get here before Stannis, so they will be a relief force more than anything. They need not know you're no longer a bachelor until after Stannis is dealt with."

He liked the sound of that. "Good."

"However," Tyrion continued. "The Tyrells won't be happy about that, there's the possibility that we might just be trading an assaulting force for another."

He sighed deeply. He wasn't as well versed in military matters as his father, and that was bothering him now. He cursed his mother for that, even if he wasn't sure why exactly. Nevertheless, he offered, "You said the raven came from grandfather, is he coming too?"

"Yes."

"Alone?"

"No," Tyrion answered slowly. "He's bringing his army."

"If the Tyrells were to betray us and started attacking us as soon as Stannis is dealt with, do you think that grandfather's army would be enough to beat them?"

"Possibly, but it isn't a sure thing. No matter how you try to put it, we're trading a sure victory for only a likely one, nephew. And that's assuming we manage to hold Stannis off long enough for your grandfather and Loras Tyrell to arrive."

"Is there any other choice?" Joffrey asked, he was growing bored of the hedging and second guessing. He turned to look at his relatives and, indeed, Tyrion and Cersei were looking at each other. She opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could speak, "That doesn't involve Sansa not being my wife."

"No, I guess there isn't," Cersei conceded, giving up.

"Then I have no more reason to keep wasting my time with you," Joffrey sentenced and left the room.


	2. Tyrion I

He cursed under his breath, still rubbing his swollen cheek, while his nephew left the room. The little demon had hit him so hard he was shocked he still had all his teeth.

"What are we going to do?" Asked Cersei, she sounded frightened. In any other time, he would have relished in his cunt of a sister's fear, but right now he felt just as scared. "Should we tell father?"

"He would do something horrible to us just for not having kept tabs on Joffrey." Answered Tyrion with the obvious. Right now he could think of nothing else to say.

"How could we know that was going to happen? Why did it even happen? I thought he didn't care for the girl." Said Cersei, exasperated. She rose from her chair again and started passing back and forth.

"I don't think he... cares for the girl, per se." Noted Tyrion, pensive. "The real problem is that probably all your complaining about Robert, and how a king shouldn't behave towards 'his lady' in any way but the utmost care, took root in him."

"Are you insinuating that this is my fault?!" Demanded Cersei, indignant.

"No. Well, yes." Deadpanned Tyrion. "There are so many things you're at fault regarding that boy, but I'm not blaming you in this case. I think it just so happens that what might be the one good influence you had in him, he found a way to screw us over with."

Cersei bristled some more, before turning to look out the window. Then she spoke again. "So he did this all for her sake because he's supposed to treat her well. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, I think so." Mused Tyrion.

"That's stupid, then why did he fuck her? That was obviously not for her sake." Commented Cersei.

"I don't know." Said Tyrion, still thoughtful. "The way he described it, it seemed as she was the one who initiated and he only obliged. He said he had only gone into her chambers to see if she was well after the riot."

"So the problem is that the little dove is actually a whore." Said Cersei with spite.

Tyrion closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to gather patience for his sister's petty evilness. "Maybe, or maybe he was just comforting her, or whatever his version of that is, and then the fact that they are teenagers took hold of them. You said so yourself: 'we men let our cocks do half our thinking'. Well, Joffrey is at the age in which that is truest. As for Sansa, she had just been in a riot where she was assaulted and she had just gotten over her first blood, which, I have the understanding, is no easy time."

"No, it isn't. Still I expected she would be a lady and keep Joffrey at bay." Admitted Cersei with gritted teeth, still looking out the window.

"Maybe not at bay and maybe she didn't want to keep him at bay. We don't know what went down in that room and it doesn't matter. However, even if she didn't want to keep him at bay, she already has power over him. Not just because of your words about how he should treat her but because I wouldn't be shocked if he's going back to her chambers as we speak. When he opened the door to me earlier, he had just woken up and it was obvious what he had been dreaming about. Visibly obvious."

Cersei looked at him, scandalized, but made no comment.

"I think we can use this to our advantage. This is the second time Joffrey goes behind our backs and severely threatens the situation. It's obvious that he won't listen to us, but he might start listening to her, maybe even if he himself doesn't realize it. We could rein him in by controlling her." Reasoned Tyrion. "Hells, at this point, if they were to spend the rest of their lives locked away fucking, that would still be to our advantage.

"In any case, as I was saying, she already has some power over him. It was she the one who talked him into going to the septon, for instance."

"A two-faced, upjumped little whore." Muttered Cersei, venom in her voice.

"Or just a girl who was afraid of being seen as that and, so, she truly just wanted to protect her honor." Offered Tyrion.

"It doesn't matter what her intentions were." Spat Cersei, as if she hadn't been the one who brought Sansa's intentions up in the first place. "They're now married, what are we gonna do?"

That was indeed the crux of the issue. Even his idea of controlling Joffrey through Sansa would have to wait until the most pressing matters were dealt with.

"Maybe we could have her killed." Whispered Cersei, thoughtful, as she went back to sit in front of her now cold food. Tyrion felt a shudder at the real possibility that she might be serious.

"If we kill Sansa, we all die. Literally, _all_ of us." Replied Tyrion, beseeching his sister to see reason. "You heard Joffrey, we two would be the first to hang. Jaime would soon follow, courtesy of her brother."

"You're right." Accepted Cersei, sighing in resignation.

Tyrion exhaled, relieved, and found himself in the need of wine as he was having difficulty thinking. He poured himself a glass and poured one for his sister, which she took without even looking at him. Neither of them spoke for a moment, deep in their respective thoughts.

"Well, what about father?" Cersei asked, seemingly tired of the silence.

"I think we should tell him." Offered Tyrion, feeling his stomach churning as if it was made of snakes. "Even if we could think of something, he's better prepared to deal with the Tyrells. Who knows, maybe he'll manage to see an option that we can't see, as much as it pains me to say that."

"Fine. You're telling him." Informed Cersei, a shadow of her usual smirk back on her face. Thankfully, it was gone as soon as it appeared, that dire was the situation.

"No, thank you. Joffrey is telling him." Sentenced Tyrion. It was better that Tywin read for himself how hopeless they were at controlling the boy king. With every day that passed, it seemed likely that not even Tywin would be able to control him, a thought that both scared and amused Tyrion.

"What are we going to do in the meantime?" Asked Cersei, finally lifting her eyes from the table. "It isn't only the Tyrells we need to worry about. Nobody must know, not yet."

"Arrangements will have to be made. It's better we move her closer to his chambers so that, when he 'visits' her," - he said with an emphasis - "he won't have to go through half the castle. Try to keep the appearance that you're still preparing for a wedding, but tone it down so the people stop expecting it, or expect it less. The impending siege is a good excuse for pretending the royal wedding is not as important."

Cersei simply nodded before her expression suddenly turned fearful. "What if she's already with child?"

Tyrion froze, that was an eventuality that didn't occur to him. He shook his head. "Well, she won't be showing it for months. Let's deal with the consequences of Joffrey as they come."

 "You know that father might have her killed anyway, don't you?" Cersei commented. The glint in her eye made it obvious that if Tywin didn't consider it on his own, she was going to suggest it.

Suppressing a shudder, he sipped his wine. "He cares about Jaime just as much as you do. Maybe less." He added, with a look. "So hopefully he won't."

"'Hopefully'? Are you fond of the girl now?" Cersei asked sardonically. He was regretting having given her the wine.

"Not 'fond' of her, but she's barely more than a child and I'd rather not have her death on my shoulders." Pointed Tyrion, hoping his worry was clear on his face.

"She's still going to be... _is_ Joffrey's wife, don't you think she'll come to prefer death soon enough?" Cersei at least had the decency to look ashamed of recognizing how much of a monster her son was.

"If it comes to that, at least it will have been her choice. Well, somewhat." Answered Tyrion, trying not to ponder the implications too much. "It _was_ her idea to marry, or at least that's what it seems."

"I will have to speak with her." Commented Cersei after a pause, her gaze lost in the distance.

"... What for?" Tyrion asked, trying, and failing, not to sound suspicious.

"She's the queen now, but nobody can know, we can't have her blabbering about it or changing her behavior in any way. It will help too if she learns her place before she actually gets to call herself queen." Cersei said, evidently already plotting to move against the new queen and thinking of ways to keep her power intact.

"You're a horrible person. You know that, right?" Whispered Tyrion, his eyes half-closed.

"Get out. Go look for Joffrey and tell him to write to his grandfather." Cersei spat back, looking at him with just as much hatred. Tyrion had almost reached the door when he heard her muttering 'this is all your fault.'

"Seven hells!" He turned back to her. "How is it my fault?"

"You're the hand of the King!" Cersei whined, her tone as petulant as it ever got. "Your job is supposed to be to keep tabs on Joffrey and prevent him from doing something like this."

"My job is to wipe whatever Joffrey shits and that's what I've been doing." Tyrion refuted, angry. "Like yesterday in the riot, which he made worse by calling for beheadings! What were you doing while I was dealing with the mob? You should've been the one having an eye on Joffrey while I tried to prevent the peasants from killing us all! But no, I bet her grace the queen was too busy drowning her sorrow over her beloved Jaime!"

"GET! OUT!" She screamed, throwing her empty glass of wine at him, missing him by quite a large distance.

He looked at her with all the disgust he could muster before leaving the room.

Joffrey, unsurprisingly, wasn't in his room. With every step towards Sansa's chambers he felt his trepidation growing. When he doubled the corner of her corridor, he found himself in front of a guard. Things didn't look good. He tried to move pass the soldier.

"My... milord." Muttered the guard, the poor man visibly scared. "You, you can't go in there."

"Why the hell not?" Asked Tyrion in a ruder tone than he intended. The day was only starting and he had already had enough.

"I... I can't tell you, milord." The man seemed about to burst into tears.

"If you don't allow me to even knock and you don't tell me why, I'll have no option but to assume you've kidnapped Lady Stark and will have to behead you for treason." Tyrion deadpanned.

The man fell to his knees. "Please, milord! ... The lady! The lady said she didn't want to be bothered!"

It was painfully obvious that the man had _just_ thought of that excuse. "Well, I'm sorry for the lady but I am Hand of the King and she will have to give me an audience whether she wants to or not."

He made to pass the guard again and, to his surprise, the soldier threw himself on the floor in front of him, now sobbing openly. Had he not had such a stressful morning, he was sure he'd have laughed.

"Milord! The... the king is there with Lady Stark. He told me he'd have my head if someone bothered them or if I told anyone he'd been here. Please milord! Don't tell him I told you."

"Seven hells." Tyrion whispered to himself. Sometimes, he hated being right all the time.


	3. Sansa I

Joffrey was sleeping, one arm covering his eyes while the other was below her head; it wasn't as comfortable as a pillow but she didn't have the energy to move just yet. Not that she wanted to wake him, he'd probably want another go and then it would take longer for her to eat. She didn't understand how he could be sleeping, she was starving and she was sure he was hungry too. They had skipped supper last night and, given the time it was, he probably had forwent breakfast too and now had made her skip yet another meal.

But her belly wasn't the only reason she couldn't sleep. She stared at the ceiling, unsure of how to feel, about everything. She had shared her bed with the man who had beheaded her father, the man who was currently waging war against her brother. Did that make her a traitor to her family? She was now his wife too, should she be loyal to him? Did she even have it in her to side with him instead of her family? Would she even want to? He had never mistreated her, despite what he was doing against her family. Did she have other options? Maybe there was a way she could be loyal to both her family and her husband. She was terribly confused.

Her mind went to that fateful day she confirmed her suspicion that her husband was an evil man. The day her father died.

 

"Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!" Joffrey yelled, a terrible smile on his face.

She had screamed, begging for mercy, imploring, hoping anything she said would save her father. It was of no use. The sword, her father's sword, fell and the last thing she remembered before passing out was her father's head, rolling down the steps of the Sept.

She woke up, confused, in her own bed. For a moment she hoped it all had been a nightmare, but her attire, puffed out eyes and her face wet with tears told her otherwise. She looked towards her door and, letting out a small yell, saw Joffrey, leaning near the door looking at her, his expression blank.

She couldn't bear to look at him so she rolled over. She whispered, unsure if he'd hear her or not. "You promised to be merciful."

"I was." He answered simply.

She rolled over again, furious, and sat up, glaring at him. "How is what you did mercy?!"

He was still staring at her, his expression still not betraying any emotion. She wondered if he could even feel any emotion. "Traitors deserve torture, I spared your father that."

She felt tears spilling out again. "You never intended to spare him?"

"No." He admitted.

"Then why did you tell me you would?" She was starting to feel sick.

"I wanted him to confess and you gave me a way to convince him." He said, finally looking down. She wasn't sure if he was ashamed or just tired of her visage.

"You're a monster." She said, hoping her words carried all the disgust she felt.

His eyes snapped back up and she saw anger, a terrible anger, in them. "A monster? For killing a man who'd deliver me to my enemies to be torn apart? For killing a man who wanted to take my birthright from me? You will not call me a monster for defending my crown. I am the King! Anyone who puts that in doubt will share your father's fate!"

She flinched and looked away from him.

"I should have you punished for that slight. Maybe having you look at his head to remind you what happens to traitors, in case you forgot. But a king should never harm his lady." He said, looking down again, seeming placated all of sudden. It almost seemed like he regretted his outburst.

She ignored the shudder she felt at his idea of punishment and instead looked at him, horrified. "Your... your lady?"

"My mother says I'm still to marry you." He informed.

"But... why? Am I not the daughter of a confessed traitor?" She felt the realization dawning on her. She was a prisoner.

"Once we've dealt with your traitor brother, my mother told me that a marriage to you will ensure that no other northern lord raises in rebellion." He informed. It looked like he said all he wanted to say because he turned around and headed for the door.

"What will happen to my brothers?" Sansa asked, fear twisting her insides.

He paused, his hand on the door. "They will bend the knee or will die."

With that, he left and she sunk back on her bed, crying until she fell asleep. Once she woke up, she decided that she would never leave her room again. Her despair was too great and she hoped that the hunger would kill her.

Alas, that was not to last, for a handmaiden came into her room, carrying a tray with food.

"Take that away, I'm not eating." She whispered. The handmaiden curtsied the best she could with the tray and, saying nothing, left.

The same thing happened at supper time. One hour afterwards, however, she heard someone walking in with the tray again.

"I said I'm not eating!" She exclaimed.

"You will eat." It was Joffrey. She sat up again, glaring at him while the handmaiden hurriedly left them alone in the room. His face was covered in shadows from the candle, making him look ominous.

She didn't care enough to be scared anymore. "I will not."

"I will not have my lady starve. You will eat." He sentenced.

"You can't make me." She declared.

She saw a spark of anger in his eyes and he opened his mouth, surely about to say something horrible, before he closed it again. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and said, slowly. "You. Will. Eat."

"No." She was finding that the act of challenging him was lifting her spirits, however little. She noticed his fists were balled up and his arms were trembling. She wondered how much she could push until he broke what he said earlier about a king not harming his lady.

He breathed deeply again and then a smirk curved his lips. He leaned on the wall. "You think you will be able to intercede for your brothers while you're dead?"

"I interceded for my father and that got me nowhere. Why would my brothers' fates be any different?" She spat.

"What about your sister?" He asked.

She then realized that she hadn't seen Arya since the day before. She glared at him, noticing his smirk had disappeared, and asked. "Where is she?"

"Safe." He said, looking away.

"I don't believe you." She declared, her eyes narrowing.

"I don't care if you believe me."

"I want to see her."

"You can't." He declared, and she saw a hint of fear in his eyes. That made her realize that he hadn't asked about her sister to gloat, he was literally asking about her.

"You don't know where she is." She stated, not a question.

"Yes, I do." He countered, looking away. A lie.

"Well, at least she's not your prisoner. I pray to the Old Gods she makes it back to Winterfell safe." She said with all the spite she could manage.

"You're not a prisoner." He informed, looking angry again. "You're my betrothed."

"Oh, yes, sorry I forgot. I am the happiest girl in the Seven Kingdoms." She declared in a flat tone.

His nostrils flared out in anger and he seemed ready to punch something. "You... You will eat."

And with that, he left the room, stomping on the floor. She sat a moment longer, pondering what had just transpired. Maybe he did take to heart what he said about not harming her. She was a prisoner, but she seemed unlikely to suffer so maybe, just maybe, she would be well by the time her brother could rescue her. She decided she liked that ray of hope more than the despair she was feeling.

Gingerly, she took the tray and ate on her bed.

Slowly, she picked her routine back up. Besides the absence of her father and sister, which made her tear up for the first few weeks whenever she strolled through a place she had seen with them, the biggest change was that Joffrey became more insistent in her attending court and assisting events with him, probably his way of apologizing for having her father killed and warring with her brother. She was sure she'd never forgive him that but, nevertheless, she eventually grew used to being besides him... and somewhat used to his general cruelty.

One event she remembered in particular was his sixteenth name day, when he almost had Ser Dontos killed by drowning in wine.

"You can't!" She exclaimed.

"What?" He asked, still looking with glee at the dreadful spectacle.

"Your grace." She scrambled for something to say that would stop what was happening. "It's terrible luck to kill a man during your name day."

"I don't believe in superstitions." The king stated, still not looking at her, though he was no longer smiling.

The poor man was drowning, and Sansa noticed that he was also trying to throw up. It looked like something a fool would do, only on purpose and not to such an extreme.

"Fool!" She said.

"What?!" Now he did turn to look at her, offended.

"Your grace, why waste good wine on such a foolish man when you could make him the court fool?" She elaborated.

He thought it over for a moment and finally nodded to his Kingsguard, who dropped the man immediately. Just as Sansa expected, Ser Dontos threw up. She tried to keep her own nausea at bay.

"You should thank my lady." Joffrey proclaimed. "She's convinced me to spare your life and making you the court fool instead, as punishment for your affront."

"Thank... thank you, my lady." Said Ser Dontos between coughs.

She didn't understand Joffrey, at least not completely. He was petty and cruel against most of his family, even his mother, and murderous and outright evil against everyone else, but he never even raised his voice at her, despite her continuous challenging of him, even though she was sure he knew she often challenged him only for its own sake; she liked him seeing him angry, it was funny. She eventually came to the conclusion that it must have been his mother's complaining about Robert what had made him so averse to mistreating 'his lady'. Too bad it seemed to be that that was the only good thing he learned from her.

Everyone might've considered Sansa a foolish girl, but she noticed that the queen didn't like her. Cersei often belittled her and sometimes seemed to go out of her way to make her, Sansa, feel small and inferior. She didn't completely understand why, though she was sure it was something to do with Sansa being the future queen. Cersei's slights were another thing she grew used to, although by no means that meant she was ever alright with them.

She remembered the conversation they had when she got her first blood, shortly after her fifteenth name day.

"You're a late bloomer, aren't you, little dove?" Cersei asked.

"I... I believe so, your grace." She answered, not sure of what to say to that.

"Well, late as it is, you are now fit to be Queen." Cersei affirmed.

"Your grace?" Sansa had no idea what she was getting at.

"You can now bear Joffrey's children, dear. I bet you're happy." Cersei herself didn't seem at all happy, even though she was smiling.

"Yes, your grace." She lied the best she could. Frankly, she couldn't even begin to think on how to feel about that prospect.

"Good. Remember, dear, that you must. Otherwise Joffrey will have to find a new Queen. It's very good for the realm that it already has a queen to look up to just in case future ones turn out lacking." Informed Cersei, still all smiles but with a glint in her eyes Sansa didn't like at all.

Thankfully, the conversation drifted into wedding preparations after that. Sansa wasn't particularly fond of that conversation either, but anything was better than Cersei Lannister talking about queens.

"Pathetic, a prince shouldn't cry." Joffrey chided little Tommen as they were seeing Princess Myrcella off.

"I saw you cry once." She whispered, making sure only he could hear her. He tended to take it out on others whenever she slighted him in public and she'd rather not carry that guilt. He balled his fists up, but otherwise gave no indication of having heard her. She smirked.

Afterwards, the riot happened, and it had only been thanks to The Hound's intervention that she hadn't been raped.

Having taken a bath, she was sitting in her bed, hugging her legs and crying softly when he came into the room.

"Your grace!" She exclaimed, hurrying to cover herself with a blanket as she was only wearing a shift. He himself was only wearing a simple white shirt and breeches, clearly having just taken a bath too.

"My lady. I thought it my duty to see that you had safely returned." He said with a monotone, his expression blank. She wasn't sure whether he had read that he had to do that somewhere or if he genuinely wanted to see she was well.

"I... I am well, your grace." She stammered. The entire situation was so odd that she forgot about her fear for a moment.

"You are crying." He pointed out, looking out the window still wearing the same blank expression.

She quickly wiped her tears away. "Yes... I was... I was scared, but now that I'm in my room, I'm feeling better. Your grace."

"Good." He said, still looking out the window.

She wondered if he wanted something, because he didn't seem about to leave. She tested the waters. "Are you... Are you well, your grace?"

"Yes, I am, my lady. Thank you for asking." He answered, looking back to her still with the same expression. That was weird, even for him.

Tentatively, because she didn't know what else to do, she stepped out of the bed and approached him. She realized then that she was still feeling scared and noticed that she liked that Joffrey was there, knowing that he would never harm her, at least not directly. Gingerly, she hugged him and, after a moment, he hugged her back.

Then he was kissing her and, before either of them seemed to realize it, their clothes were on the floor and they were on the bed and he was kissing all over her body. She felt a light pain when he took her maidenhead but didn't ask him to stop, she liked being close to him that way; luckily, soon the pain was replaced by pleasure. After he all but collapsed on top of her after spilling his seed inside her, they kissed lazily for some time. Then she felt him growing hard again, which made her notice that her own arousal was coming back, so she asked him if he wanted more.

After she collapsed on top of him after their seventh coupling, she didn't remember how exactly she ended up on top of him, she was feeling dull aches all over her body and his grunting told her that he was in the same situation. The drowsiness coming, however, brought with it the realization of what they had just done.

As if he had been made of burning coals, she jumped away and looked at the wall. "Oh, no. What...? What have I done?"

"What?" He sounded confused, clearly dozing off.

 "I've... I've given you my virtue." Shame was creeping in.

"Your what?" He asked, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

"I am falling in the hell of whores!" She whined, although she was more scared about the humiliation their tryst would bring to her around court.

"What are you talking about?" He said, frowning at her.

"I've... I've laid with a man out of wedlock." She whispered.

"With your betrothed." He pointed out, still confused.

"Right, betrothed, not husband." She cleared.

"And that is a problem if he's the King?" He said doubtful. He seemed to be really wondering it, Joffrey was a really strange man.

"Maybe even more so, the King should only marry an untainted woman. Or something like that." She recited her septa's words, as best as she could remember them.

"Even if he himself... 'tainted' her?" Now he seemed amused and her fear was replaced by anger.

"Yes, I think so." She snapped.

He raised his eyebrows. "Is there something I can do?"

"I... I don't know. You could wed me." The problem was the 'out of wedlock' bit, so if they were wed, there wouldn't be a problem. At least she hoped not.

"I am, isn't my mother organizing it?" He asked.

"But my honor will be destroyed until then." She felt genuine tears coming to her eyes again.

"Then we should wed now." He said, with a shrug.

Fighting back the soreness and tiredness they felt, they got dressed and, at her suggestion, covered themselves with makeshift hoods out of her needlework so they would be less likely to be recognized. She didn't want to be seen leaving her chambers with a man, especially at the hour of the wolf.

The septon took so long opening the door of the castle sept that, for a moment, she was mortified at the prospect of having to walk all the way to the Great Sept. Thankfully, after ten long minutes, in which Joffrey grew increasingly furious, the door opened.

"Who bothers the gods at this..."

"Shut up!" Joffrey spat.

"Your grace!" Exclaimed the septon, falling to his knees. Then he noticed Sansa. "My lady!"

"Raise, you old cunt." Sansa was scandalized at Joffrey insulting the holy man. "You should always answer the door as soon as the King demands it!"

"Yes, your grace. I apologize, your..."

Joffrey didn't let him finish and simply pushed him into the Sept, following along with Sansa.

"How may I help you, your..."

"Marry us." Joffrey interrupted, plainly.

The man looked from Sansa to Joffrey and back to Sansa. She blushed and looked down. "Your... your grace?"

"Are you deaf, now? Should I tear your ears out to confirm it? Marry. Us." Sansa hoped Joffrey wouldn't murder the man before he got the chance to marry them.

"Your grace, aren't you supposed to wed Lady Stark in the Great Sept in a...?"

"The King isn't 'supposed' to do anything other than what he wishes." Said, Joffrey, voice dangerously low. "And the King wishes to marry tonight."

"At once, your grace."

And just like that, they were married under the Faith of the Seven. Sansa would have preferred a ceremony of the Old Gods, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"This is a secret." Informed Joffrey as they were leaving, putting the makeshift hoods over their heads again. "If you tell anyone that Lady Stark and I are now married, I will chop your body in seven pieces and offer each one to the Seven, understood?"

The septon paled at the sacrilegious words and simply nodded, repeating 'yes, your grace' over and over. Once they were back in her chambers, she entered and, to her surprise, Joffrey made to follow.

"Your grace?" She asked, raising her eyebrows.

"What?"

"It's... it's not appropriate for you to spend the night in my chambers."

"Seven hells. Aren't you my wife now?" He said, annoyed. As usual, she could barely contain her mirth at his displeasure.

"Well... yes, but we agreed to keep it a secret." She reminded him.

"Fine." He conceded and, after a pause, grabbed her towards him, making her yelp as he kissed her. After breaking it off, he spoke in a low voice, while rubbing his cheek on hers. "But I'm coming back tomorrow."

"Yes, your grace." She accepted, flustered.

And just like that, he left.

 

As her reverie brought her back to the present, Joffrey seemed to wake from his short nap, lifting his arm from his face before rubbing his eyes with his fingers. He rolled her with the arm she was using as a pillow, turning her face towards him, and gave her a long, lazy kiss.

As he started moving on top of her again, Sansa broke it. "Your grace, I think we should eat some..."

A loud knocking came from her door.


	4. Sansa II

Joffrey's head snapped towards the door, an angry expression on his face. For her part, Sansa reacted on instinct and pushed at his hard chest with all her strength. She clearly caught him by surprise, for he looked back at her, shocked at losing his balance, and rolled off the bed falling to the floor with a loud thud. She knew he was heavier than she was so she allowed herself a moment of surprise at her own strength, even if it came from panic, before a string of words that should never be said in front of a lady came from the floor.

She looked over the bed and saw Joffrey was holding his head, still whispering insults, which made her realize that he must have hit his head on her bedside table as he fell. She also noticed that, while she could hear everything he said, he had kept himself from yelling. She was both glad and amazed that, even in pain, he had been careful in protecting her honor by trying to not make any loud noise. At least, she assumed that was the reason.

He seemed fine, but nevertheless she asked. "Are you alright?"

"Fu... Damn it! Gods!" Was all he answered. It seemed he had wanted to insult her but restrained himself at the last second. "Why did you do that?!"

"I... I got scared. I'm sorry, your grace." She tried to sound honest but, frankly, the picture of his grace the King sprawled awkwardly on the floor, naked as the day he was born, rubbing his head and blinking back tears was something she would carry until her last day to use for cheering herself up in bad moments.

"Never mind that." He said, sitting up and trying to hide from her that he was wiping his eyes. There was more knocking on the door. "Go answer."

She hurriedly put on a shift and brushed her hair with her fingers, trying to make it seem like she had just gotten out of bed. Then she approached the door and asked. "Who is it?"

"Tyrion Lannister, my lady." Indeed, it was Lord Tyrion's voice.

"I'm sorry, my lord." She informed, truthfully. "But I'm not dressed to receive."

"That's quite alright, my lady, I won't go in, but could you just open the door, I need to ask you something rather private." Tyrion beseeched.

She didn't like where any of this was going but nevertheless opened her door just a tiny crack. "Yes, my lord?"

"My lady." Tyrion looked up at her with a smile, a strained smile. He continued in a whisper. "I just wanted to know if you knew of the King's whereabouts."

She tried not to let her fear or shame show on her face and, shaking her head slightly, answered. "Not since the riot yesterday, my lord."

A tiny smirk she felt was mocking her appeared on Tyrion's lips. "I see, alas. My lady, if you see him, could you please tell him I need him urgently?"

"I shall, my lord." She replied, she went to close her door when he spoke again.

"One more thing, my lady. You missed breakfast and I don't remember seeing you last night at supper either, are you well?" Now she was sure there was a sardonic smile on Tyrion's lips.

Frowning, she answered. "I am my lord. I guess I was just shaken about the riot and overslept, I will be coming down to eat as soon as I get dressed."

"Marvelous. Well, I suppose I'll see you later, my lady." With that, Tyrion turned on his heels and walked away.

She closed the door and leaned her forehead on it, pondering what Lord Tyrion's behavior meant. She gasped and almost jumped when she felt Joffrey's hands on her hips, making her turn around. She was glad he had dressed, but she felt herself getting angry.

"What did he want?" He asked as he tried to go in for a kiss.

She dodged him, ducking under his arm, and went to sit on her bed. Frowning still, she turned to look at him. "He wanted to know where you were and asked me to tell you that he needs to see you at once."

"Fucking dwarf, it's the second time he bothers me today and it's not even dinner time." He said as he walked towards her, bringing to her mind a memory of the dogs at Winterfell following the bitches whenever they were in heat.

Shaking her head trying to erase the unseemly picture, she looked up at him and asked, a stern tone in her voice. "Joffrey, does he know something happened?"

He had knelt down in front of her, apparently still wanting to kiss her, but looked away instead. After a pause, he answered, now frowning too. "Yes."

She first felt herself going pale before a furious blush crept to her cheeks. She put her head in her hands and whispered. "Gods, I am going to be known as the court whore!"

He looked at her, alarmed. "No, you won't. Only he and my mother know."

"Your... your mother?" Now she felt tears. Cersei was going to hate her even more now and would make sure everyone ostracized her. An she couldn't even use her title as Queen to try to fend off the slights.

"Yes." Joffrey confirmed. "But they also know we're married; you are not a whore."

That did ease her trepidation a bit. "Still, an elopement won't be seen kindly around court."

"Nobody else will know and, if someone finds out and tries to say something, I will hang them in the very Throne Room to keep more whispers at bay. Besides, my mother and the dwarf can't tell, they too need to keep our marriage a secret." He informed, but looked away from her again. That made her suspicious.

"Why? Wouldn't it be best for the crown to avoid the expenses of a royal wedding now that we're at war? It's not like people will blame you for eloping anyway, you're the king." She pointed, raising an eyebrow.

"And you're the queen. Even if they find out we were married in secret, they won't do anything against you." He told her.

She wasn't so sure. "Your mother is the queen. She's made it very clear that I'm completely replaceable until I bear your children. And I wouldn't be shocked if I'm still replaceable once I've given birth to an heir."

His green eyes snapped towards her and she saw anger in them. No, it was more than anger, it seemed like madness. "Nobody is replacing you. You are my wife and I will kill every single person in the Seven Kingdoms if someone tries to take you away from me."

She looked at him bewildered. Not knowing how to react to his outburst, she went back to topic. "You didn't answer why they can't tell."

He took a deep breath, seemingly to calm himself, and looked somewhere above her head. "They got a raven from my grandfather last night. My betrothal to you was to be annulled and he had promised me to another."

Her trepidation came back in full force. "To whom? And why?"

"Margaery Tyrell. And it was to settle a military alliance with her family against Stannis Baratheon." He informed.

"Against your uncle? Why?" She then realized how little of the goings on in the Kingdom she was aware of. She decided to keep herself more informed from then on if she was to be the queen.

"He's setting sail towards King's Landing soon, if he's not yet on the move. The Imp is already preparing for a siege." He said, a strange glint in his eye she didn't know how to interpret. He seemed both scared and excited at the idea of battle. Or maybe scared at the idea of battle but excited at the slaughter it would bring. She couldn't really tell.

"And you need the Tyrells to beat his forces?" She asked.

"My uncle believes we do. He intends to lie to them about my bachelorhood until Stannis is dealt with." He answered, sounding annoyed. He didn't seem happy about needing the help of another family.

"And what happens when they find out the truth?" She was getting more afraid now, although she didn't know for sure why. Something about the whole situation was causing her a bad feeling.

"That's what we will find out. My grandfather will also arrive with Lannister reinforcements, we'll deal with the Tyrells if need be."

She didn't say anything for a moment so he kissed her again, seemingly just because the mood struck him.

Once he broke it, she whispered. "You should go to your uncle, he seemed impatient."

"I am the King." He reminded her unnecessarily, a trace of annoyance in his voice.

"Yes, but still. Maybe it's matters of the siege that you need to know." She beseeched him.

"Fine." He kissed her one last time and, placing his forehead on top of hers, he said. "You will dine with me today. Alone."

"Yes, your grace." She conceded, blushing.

He nodded, stood up and left her room, leaving her to prepare for her day.

She was about to call her handmaidens when she looked more closely at her bed and saw, blushing a bright pink, that it was very evident that her sheets hadn't been changed since the day before. There was a small stain of blood near the center along with stains of who knows what else all over them. At first she considered burning them, but she couldn't do that in her room so she saw no other option but to call on the only handmaiden she truly trusted, Shae, and asked her to get rid of her sheets without letting anyone see them if possible. She was mortified at the shadow of realization that crossed Shae's features when she looked at the sheets, but thankfully the handmaiden made no comment.

"At once, my lady." Shae said before she walked away with the sheets in a very tight bundle under her arm. The incriminating evidence gone, she called on her other handmaidens to help her get dressed.

When her hair was almost done, Shae came back. She was holding a small tray with a lemon cake.

"If you're getting ready just now I suppose you didn't have breakfast, my lady. I thought you'd be hungry." Explained Shae, but the glint in her eyes spoke of more reasons she had considered for Sansa to be hungry.

Not sure if the handmaiden's look was impertinent or not, and frankly not caring because she was starving, Sansa immediately took the cake and ate it in less than five minutes. It tasted like heaven.

"Gods, thank you. Shae."

The handmaiden only curtsied, in the peculiar way she did, wearing a small smile.

Once she was ready, she walked out, wanting to go to the gardens as it'd been almost a day since she'd been outside. The sun was reinvigorating and, for some reason, she felt safer than she ever had since her father had been executed. She tried not to associate the feeling with Joffrey, but a voice in the back of her head kept telling her she was his queen now, even if nobody around court knew it. Speaking of queens, she made her best to avoid running into Cersei during the morning and, thankfully, she didn't even see her at all.

Eventually, she grew scared again. Even if her marriage to Joffrey was a layer of protection she didn't have before, it meant nothing when it came to her family. Joffrey was still at war with Robb and, while she wasn't sure what to do about that, something told her that she now could do more than before. She needed to be careful, but she also needed to do whatever she could to protect her family.

When it came time for dinner, she got message from Joffrey saying that he was waiting for her at his chambers. She tried to tell herself she had only imagined the knowing smile she saw in Shae's lips as she was escorted to her "betrothed"'s room.


	5. Joffrey II

He was walking back and forth in his chambers, occasionally looking out the window to hear the faint sounds of battle in the distance.

Was he a coward? Should he have stayed and fought with his men? His mother had called him and, in the walls, he had justified it as something important, but she only called on him to tell him to go to his chambers. Maybe he should go back out to see if he could help with something, but what could he even do? One man, even a king, wasn't going to make a difference in direct combat. His men had to fight for him, whether he was there or not, he was their King.

What if the Imp was right? Everyone did bow in his presence, maybe the lesser people needed the king in front of them to be inspired. Should he go and inspire them, then? But what if he died? He couldn't die, he had to rule, he was born to rule. Was he just a coward? No, he was just too important, he couldn't be risked in a mere fight. But what of his father? He had always fought and led his armies, what would his father think of him?

_"Did you let that little girl disarm you?"_

His father would be disappointed, he was a disappointment. Was he? His father hadn't fought in his later years, although he did fight in every war; there just wasn't any war in his later years. What if all his father's war stories were just that, stories? Yes, that fat man always drinking and eating couldn't have fought as much as he said he did. But his brother did fight that much, he was doing it right now. Was his father like Stannis in his youth? If Stannis and his father fought, why didn't he?

_"Of course you'll be in the vanguard, they say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting's thickest and he's only a pretender."_

He grabbed Sansa's favor from Hearteater's pristine handle and closed his hand around it. Had she been mocking him? She was constantly making light of him. Had she meant what she said? Why had she said that? Did she want him to die? No, she obviously loved him, even more than everyone else did. So, was he disappointing her too? He could call on her and ask her.

But what if she was indeed disappointed? Could he look into her eyes that would see only a coward? He wasn't a coward, he was too important, surely she'd see that. What if she didn't? What if she was so disappointed she didn't let him touch her again? He shook his head, no, she loved him, she wouldn't let him out of her bed. But women talked, what if she mentioned to everyone that he had been in his chambers while the fighting was going on? What if he was branded a coward by everyone? He'd kill them all.

More noises came from the city walls and he sat down, looking at the floor. Should he go? Should he stay? Robb and Stannis _were_ pretenders yet still fought in the frontlines. But maybe they fought in the frontlines _because_ they were pretenders; they needed to prove they were as good as him by foolishly risking their lives. No, he was more important than them and the rightful King, he didn't need to prove anything, he didn't need to fight.

He looked down at Hearteater. His blade was completely clean; it should be drenched in blood. Was he disappointing his blade too? He tossed it away and it fell near one of his crossbows, to which he stared at for a moment before picking it up. Maybe he could still fight, but from a safe distance: He could lead the archery unit. What if there was no more archery unit? He'd be going to the walls for naught. The Imp might even be dead already, Ser Mandon must have carried out his mission by now.

What if the Imp had been right? What if without him or his uncle the soldiers stopped fighting and let Stannis through? They would all die unless his grandfather did arrive with the Tyrells, like they promised. What if they were stalled? They would all die. He had to go.

What if he did and died anyway? He had to see her one last time, then. He stood up, grabbing the crossbow as firmly as he could, and walked towards his door. Ser Meryn was there.

"Call Sansa."

"Your grace," the knight nodded and went towards Sansa's chambers.

He stood in front of his window until he heard his door opening.

"Your grace...?" She sounded confused.

"Close the door."

As soon as he heard the door closing, he turned towards her. She was as beautiful as she had looked before he had left to the walls for the first time. He crossed his room in four strides and kissed her, hard, pushing her body towards the closed door. He needed this last indulgence.

After he broke the kiss and started rubbing his cheek on hers, she spoke, "Your grace, what... what are you doing here?"

There it was, the disappointment. She had sounded confused, but the very fact that she was meant that she hadn't expected him to be there. He ought to yell at her, to punish her for doubting him.

Fighting against every instinct and need in his body, he stepped away from her and picked his crossbow back up. "I... I just came for my crossbow, I reckon it is a weapon better suited for a siege. I also wanted to see you."

She looked at him with interest. Had she believed him? Sometimes she seemed like a normal stupid girl, but sometimes she seemed... different.

She stepped towards him and grabbed his face. "I... I don't think I want you to leave again, your grace."

So she wasn't disappointed? She... she was kissing him. All the fire that burned inside him when he kissed her came back as she kissed him. Soon enough, they were in his bed.

Afterwards, he was burying his face in her neck, relishing in the feeling of her body underneath his. He didn't even notice that the sounds of battle had stopped.

He smelled her hair and groaned in content. "You smell so good."

"Thank you, your grace," she replied. He felt it more than heard it. "Your grace?"

He groaned in reply.

"What of the battle?"

He barely understood her words; if she was going to start asking these things, she needed to stop caressing his back.

Making an effort, he lifted his head to look her in the eye. "I thought you didn't want me to leave."

She smiled, treading her fingers through his hair. "I don't, but shouldn't you ask for an update?"

She was looking at him with those blue eyes that made it so difficult to even hear what she said, particularly in moments like this. Nevertheless, he turned his head towards the window and finally noticed that the city had been silent. He frowned, stood up, and walked towards the window, not caring about his state of undress.

Was the battle over? He was about to go to his door and send Ser Meryn for information when he heard it: Men were marching, many men were marching, towards the Red Keep.

"Get dressed," he ordered. He was already starting to get dressed himself.

She obeyed immediately and, as soon as she was decent, he went to his door. Ser Meryn was still there.

"There are men coming towards the castle," Joffrey said, "go to the doors to see if message from my grandfather or my uncle has arrived. If not, close the doors."

"Your grace." The Kingsguard ran towards the hall.

He picked his crossbow again. Were they going to die? If his grandfather or the Imp had won, why hadn't he heard about it? It had to be Stannis. He looked at Sansa, who was looking back at him with a mix of fear and curiosity. It didn't matter if he was a coward or not, or if he had caused their loss. They might have breached the city, but the castle could still hold long enough for his grandfather to arrive. He'd make sure of it, they weren't going to harm his lady or take her away from him.

"Joffrey," she spoke, still looking intently at him.

It wasn't the first time she used his name in private, but it was the first time it caused a strange flutter in his insides.

"Yes?"

"Let's leave," she said, still studying his features.

He froze, looking at her for a long moment. "What?"

"What if it's your uncle? He will kill you, why not escape while we can?"

His throat was dry, he cleared it. "And what could we do?"

She crossed her arms, like hugging herself, and averted her gaze. "We could go to the Riverlands, to my brother."

She seemed completely serious, but she could not be. How could she expect him to run away and give up his throne in favor of her traitor brother? He snorted and looked away. "As if your brother wouldn't kill me?"

"I would speak on your behalf," she beseeched him, "I would not let him kill you."

He glared at her. "What's this? Do I need your protection now? I am the King, I won't let any thief sit in my throne."

"What is your plan, then? Dying defending the castle?" She uncrossed her arms and went towards the window. The marching sound was growing with every minute.

"I won't die, even if it isn't my grandfather who we're hearing, the castle can hold long enough until he arrives to help me destroy Stannis." He told himself as much as he told her.

"What if the Tyrells betrayed him?" Sansa was starting to seem desperate. "What if they attacked instead of joining him and he never makes it here? What if they join Stannis instead?"

Could she be right? He felt himself paling and his hands trembling, while still holding the crossbow. They both jumped at the sudden knock at the door.

"Your grace!" It was Trant.

"What happened?" He asked after opening the door.

"Stannis has breached the city gates, your grace!" The Kingsguard sounded and looked terrified.

He felt his stomach drop to the floor, along with his crossbow. They were going to die, he was dying, he was no king.

He cleared his throat. "Did you close the gates of the castle?"

"Yes, your grace," Trant said with a trembling voice. "But there are too few men in the castle, most were defending the walls."

"Is there word of my grandfather yet?" He was wringing his hands and looking all over the place.

"No, your grace." The Kingsguard seemed about to piss himself.

He looked at Sansa and back at the knight. "Go to the gates, organize a defence, I will join you shortly."

Trant seemed about to protest.

"Are you going to defy my order? Are you going to betray your king?" He walked towards his kingsguard, looking down at the knight.

"No, your grace!" Ser Meryn denied, cowering. "At once, we will be waiting for you."

What else was he supposed to do? If he didn't defend his throne, he was no king. He was king, he was king and was going to win because that's what kings did. He looked at Sansa, who was still staring intently at him; her eyes were filling with tears. She was a weak woman who didn't understand what he had to do.

He blinked back his own tears and spoke, with a strained voice, "Stay here."

"Joffrey!" She yelled while he picked his crossbow back up.

He turned away from her and headed for the door. Best to ignore Sansa for now, else she might force him to do something drastic.

"Joffrey, I'm with child."

His crossbow fell to the floor once again.


	6. Sansa III

King's Landing was on fire.

She should be hiding somewhere, but once she dared to walk to her window, she could not look away. There were men, soldiers, running across the streets, yelling at each other and, she assumed, different groups of soldiers crashing against each other. She could see some of what was happening from the scattered fires in different buildings and could hear the screams and the sounds of clashing swords, but could not tell a banner from the next. The smell of fire, smoke and -to her horror- charred meat filled her nostrils. Horses whinnied or made sounds she could only associate with death. In the distance, she could make out crying women and whining babes.

The Warrior's punishment had come to their doorstep and she didn't even know what was happening, nobody had bothered to inform her, nobody had bothered to check on her. She couldn't rejoin the ladies of the court, who probably were better informed, for Cersei would have her head removed by that horrible man. In a moment of fleeting madness, she considered going to the castle gates themselves, but she almost snorted to herself at the notion. No, Joffrey would have her removed and probably locked up if he saw her down there.

As if on cue, she heard his voice amidst the chaos, the madness and bloodlust in it unmistakable: "Another volley! Kill them all!"

At least he was now channeling his addled mind towards something that could be seen as heroic instead of torturing people and animals. She shook her head. No, not only what was happening before her was not heroic, it was horror, but Joffrey wasn't fighting for honor, and maybe not even for his need for violence. Joffrey was fighting to protect his heir.

She closed her eyes. He had stood with his back to her for a full minute without any reaction, and she had been about to speak again when he bolted out the door. In her bid to beseech him to leave the city, she had only pushed him into the fight with even more fervor in his heart, leaving herself stranded. Were she to leave on her own, she wouldn't make it pass the city gates without being killed or captured, so she stayed.

The worst thing was that his heir might not even be coming. She had only told him she was with child because it was the first thing that came to her mind that, she hoped, could convince him to go with her. They had laid together for the first time only three weeks ago, and her blood should be coming in today but, for all she knew, it might just come in tomorrow. If Joffrey's forces were to win and her blood came in, he'd be furious. If Joffrey's forces were to lose and she had indeed quickened, she'd be the disgraced queen of a deposed king, with a child that would be torn away from her and murdered. If Joffrey's forces were to win and she was indeed with child or Joffrey lost and she wasn't with child...

She shook her head again and felt tears brimming in her eyes as she left the window and started walking back and forth in the King's chambers. She was wishing for the monster who had killed her father, for the monster who would kill her brother given the chance, to prevail; and she was hoping to carry his child. At the same time, she was wishing for her husband, the man who was fighting right now to protect her, to die and for his seed to have never taken hold. The Maiden was punishing her for not having rejected Joffrey's advances that afternoon, or any of the many times afterward.

In the horizon, coming from the Blackwater, she saw the first lights of the dawn raising above the sea. She focused back on the battle.

"Retreat!"

"Protect the king!"

Several groups of soldiers were screaming similar things. A man, an older man, whose voice seemed familiar but she was certain she had never heard it before, kept screaming 'no!', growing more distant with every minute.

At the same time, she heard a word that seemed to come from everywhere below her window: "Victory!"

Joffrey had won. The fires were still burning and there was still screaming and crying, but the soldiers of the castle wouldn't be yelling their victory otherwise.

She cleaned her tears, sat on the bed and waited, fidgeting. Not five minutes later, he came in. Earlier, he had left his ornate, custom made armor scattered in his room, so he was wearing a plainer one. There were blood splatters on it. His hair was sticking to his forehead from the sweat and he had a feverish glint in his eyes. He was looking at her as if she was the only thing he could see and that caused a stirring deep in her loins. He had never looked more handsome.

As if on a trance, never breaking eye contact, he walked towards her, dropped to his knees and kissed her. It was desperate, it was raw, it was dirty, she could smell death in him. But she couldn't stop him, she didn't want to. Trying not to break the kiss or their touches, they awkwardly removed his armor and their clothes. He took her in a forceful, almost animalistic manner, and she enjoyed every second of it.

They were starting their second coupling when knocking came from the door. She didn't even remember when they closed it.

"Your grace," it was a male voice she didn't recognize.

"What?!" He barked out, speaking for the first time since he came into the room. He was inside her and hadn't stopped moving so she had to bite into his shoulder to keep herself from moaning. He hissed, but otherwise made no sound.

"The Lord Hand needs your..." 

"No, I'm busy." He kissed her possessively after saying that.

"But, your grace..."

"Leave!"

She heard the man all but run away. Not that she paid much attention.

They were laying down on their sides afterwards, looking at each other and sharing lazy kisses. He was rubbing her flat belly, so casually she couldn't even tell if he was aware he was doing it.

"Joffrey," she had to tell him.

"Hm?" He prompted, meeting her gaze.

"I... I'm not actually sure I'm pregnant," she whispered.

His fingers immediately abandoned her belly and his entire face turned into a hard, cold mask. He rolled onto his back and stared at the bedpost.

"What?" He asked flatly.

"I... I just..." She hesitated, fidgeting.

"Why did you say you were?" He asked, still with the same monotone.

"I... I just... wanted you..." She was having real trouble speaking all of a sudden.

"To run away?" He said, looking at her eyes again. He hadn't raised his voice, but he was obviously furious.

"To protect us!" She exclaimed and sat up.

He grabbed her arm and brought her on top of him. He hadn't been forceful, but she was scared anyway.

"Joffrey..."

"Protect me? You would have had me leave my castle, my throne, my crown, my birthright for a child you don't even know you're carrying." They were face to face, but he was looking somewhere on her forehead. Then he met her eye, his gaze slowly turning murderous. "Or a child you _aren't_ carrying..."

"No!" She shook her head. "I mean, my blood was meant to come in yesterday, it hasn't yet."

That seemed to placate him, if not much. He rolled her away from him, again not forceful but not gentle either, and left the bed. Putting on a robe, he stood by his window.

"It doesn't matter," he said after a while, still looking towards his burning city. "You will be carrying my heir soon enough, if you aren't already. My traitor uncle had to run away, now I only have to worry about your brother."

Her brother, her brother who would now be facing against Joffrey alone. Against Joffrey _and the Tyrells,_ alone. She had to do something, but not right now; interceding for her brother at the moment would only infuriate Joffrey further.

She breathed deeply and focused in the less dangerous topic. "What exactly happened? I thought Stannis Baratheon had already won."

"He beat the Imp away from the city gates. When he started his assault on the Red Keep, though, my grandfather's forces arrived," Joffrey explained.

"I thought your reinforcements were expected earlier," she said, putting on her shift. He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. Upon noticing she was dressed, he frowned, which made her blush.

He looked out the window again. "The Tyrells were slow on their feet. My grandfather had already opted to march without waiting for them anymore when they arrived."

"You think they found out about... us?" She asked, putting on her gown. It was the second time she had put it on in this room in a matter of hours.

"I don't think they know yet. But I guess that's one of the things my grandfather wants to talk about," he said, pulling up his breeches.

"Your grandfather? But I thought Lord Tyrion was the hand." She was looking at him and frowned when his shirt covered his torso.

"My uncle was only the acting Hand. Now that my grandfather is here, he's the Hand. The Imp is probably dying anyway," he said, smiling cruelly.

"What?" Tyrion was a Lannister, and often didn't seem to care about anything, including her. But other times, he seemed kind.

"He was brought back from the gates by his squire. They say half his face was torn away." Joffrey's smile only grew.

Sansa felt herself paling. "That's terrible."

He made a dismissive gesture with his mouth before going to the door and opening it. He signaled to her. "After you."

"What?"

"We're both going to talk with my grandfather," he informed, arching an eyebrow.

"What? Why? Why me?" All she knew about Lord Tywin was that he was a terrible man who had raised his terrible children and once had committed atrocities in the city. He was the last man she wanted to meet.

"He's going to try to talk me into ending our marriage, somehow. Your being there is going to make it easier to show the old fart that that's not happening," he said, seeming angry again, albeit not at her.

"But I'm... I'm not decent. I should wash first..." It was a feeble excuse doomed to fail and it did.

Joffrey snorted. "You can be sure he knows exactly what we were doing. That's why he sent a servant and didn't come himself."

She blushed a deep pink and, no other idea coming to her mind, walked out the door. When they doubled the corner, however, they almost crashed with a soldier that was running towards them.

"Your grace!" The man explained, almost tripping and falling in front of them. He noticed Sansa after standing straight. "My lady."

"Yes, I know, my grandfather wants to speak to me, that's where we're going," Joffrey said, turning away.

"No, your grace." The man seemed scared. "Something's happened."

"What? Did Stannis come back?" Sansa asked, looking at the guard. She wasn't sure if she was hopeful or afraid and hoped that her voice showed the latter.

"No, my lady. It's about the Queen and Prince Tommen," the soldier said, looking more scared by the second.

"What about them?" Joffrey asked, growing visibly annoyed at the hedging man.

"They are... they were... they were found in the throne room, your grace," the man stammered.

"Fine," Joffrey said and walked away. When he noticed she wasn't following, he turned back to look at Sansa and the soldier with an arched eyebrow.

"Found?" Sansa asked, ignoring Joffrey. "Did something happen to them?"

The man looked from Sansa to Joffrey and back several times, then he whispered, "They were poisoned, my lady."


	7. Joffrey III

He misheard the guard, surely. Who would poison the Queen Mother and the Prince? Ridiculous!

"What? Is Tommen alright?" Sansa asked, sounding worried. She looked at Joffrey, her lips trembling in a strange way, before looking back at the guard. "And the Queen?"

"I don't know, my lady. They were taken to the Grand Maester's chambers," the guard answered.

Joffrey took off immediately towards Pycelle's laboratory, ignoring Sansa yelling after him. His mother was poisoned, his brother was poisoned. Tommen had always been an annoying, whiny kid and Cersei had gotten on his nerves more and more lately, specially whenever she talked about Sansa. Would he be happy if they were gone? Tommen was his heir, but Sansa might already be bearing one, or she would soon enough. Did he need Cersei still? He wasn't a kid, he was a man grown, and a King, a King does not need his mother. How would life in the Red Keep be without his mother around? She was usually the one he spoke to whenever something was bothering him or he wanted comfort, but he hadn't gone to her in weeks.

Since the riot, actually. The last time he'd gone to his mother was at his uncle's behest, the day after the riot. Now, whenever he wasn't holding court, he was with Sansa, usually in bed. They didn't talk much, but he hadn't needed much talking either; when he was with Sansa, he forgot about everything else and things stopped bothering him. Sansa's naked embrace was also much, _much_ better than his mother's increasingly awkward hugs and sappy words.

But did he actually want his mother dead? His mother was also his counselor, but did he need a counselor? He had just successfully held the Red Keep until his grandfather arrived. There was also that, his grandfather was now in the King's Landing, he could be his counselor. It was his job as the Hand anyway.

What about Tommen? Tommen was a spoiled kid, with no idea about anything, unlike him. He was probably better off without his brother. But, then again, his mother and uncle needed Tommen, to offer his hand to the Tyrell girl instead of Joffrey's. They had been emphatic in that the Tyrell army was larger than the Lannister army and, were they displeased, they could betray the Crown. Betray him. It was barbaric, they should just be loyal to the King, no questions asked. The Lannisters and the Baratheons - the true Baratheons, unlike his uncle - shouldn't have to be indebted to lesser people, to lesser lords. But alas, until he could create an army loyal only to the King, they needed the Tyrells. As such, they needed Tommen.

Who could've poisoned them, anyway? Who would move against the Royal family like that? Whoever they were, they needed to be punished. He had to find out the culprits and deliver them to Ser Ilyn soon; the disrespect couldn't go on for too long. The attack could also mean that he was a target, as inconceivable, as monstrous as that was. He, the King, the beacon of the people, loved by all. Only a true monster could think of harming him. No, nobody would try to kill him, he was too important, the people knew that. Sansa. They could try their hand with Sansa next. No, that couldn't happen. That wouldn't happen. Sansa had to live.

But, if Tommen did die and Sansa were the next victim, he could marry the Tyrell girl, making their political alliance that much easier and securing his power. He could still feel Sansa's kiss on his skin, her scent on him. He shook his head. No, they should be loyal to him, no matter his wife; they _would_ be loyal to him. It didn't matter whom he chose as wife. He would make sure the entire world knew that, and he would make sure the entire world knew he would burn everything to the ground if someone tried to take his queen away from him. He needed her.

He stopped in his tracks. No, he didn't need her, that was absurd. He was King, the King didn't need anyone. Shaking his head, he started walking again. She was carrying his heir; he needed an heir. Yes, that was it, he would not allow anybody to harm Sansa because it would mean harming his child. What if people afraid of his power decided to attack Sansa _because_ of that? It was a monstrous idea, to attack the Prince of Dragonstone. But Tommen was the current Prince of Dragonstone - even if Stannis, the traitor, was occupying the island - and yet they had attacked him. In that case, Sansa needed protection.

"Joffrey!" It was Sansa, finally catching up to him. She grabbed his arm and spun him around.

He looked at her face, but he wasn't really seeing anything, "You must be protected."

Sansa frowned. "What?"

"You... You must go to your chambers and lock yourself there. Never leave without supervision," he said, finally focusing on her blue eyes.

Eyes that were currently looking at him in confusion, that was slowly turning into anger. "What are you talking about?"

"If they attacked my mother and brother, nobody can be sure they won't attack my wife," he said slowly, still on his reverie.

"But they don't know I'm your wife," she pointed out, seeming confused again. "And who's this 'they'? We still don't know what happened to Tommen. And to Cersei," she added his mother's name as an afterthought.

She had a point, she was protected by the general ignorance. But if Varys had found out about their wedding, someone else could have too. He couldn't take any chances. "I don't care, you're to be in your chambers, only out under supervision and someone will always taste your food before you eat it."

"So I'm your prisoner now?" She snapped at him. Now she seemed truly angry.

He grabbed the small of her back and crushed her into him, their eyes only an inch away. "Listen, if something happens to you... If you die... No, you won't die, you _can't_ die. You're not a prisoner, you're the Queen. My Queen. My Queen must be protected."

She narrowed her eyes, "I think the 'Queen' knows what's better for her."

She was challenging him, she always challenged him. It made him want to grab her neck and squish. Her neck, her alluring neck; he was leaning down to kiss it.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog she was causing. Before he could speak, though, she talked again, "At least let's find out what happened to them before you lock me out in a Tower like some maiden from a story, waiting for her brother to come rescue her."

At the mention of her brother 'rescuing' her, everything before him turned red. Somehow, he found himself pressing her against the wall, grabbing her hips in a bruising grip, his forehead on hers and their eyes locked in a silent battle. She was looking at him with a mix of fear, anger and... arousal? Gods.

"Your brother won't take my queen away from me either. You must understand that," he said, his voice a whisper. "You are mine to do with as I please."

"No," she challenged him again. He let go of her hips and put his hands on the wall, at each side of her head.

"Yes," he declared.

He felt her hands on his chest, but she didn't push. A wolfish grin appeared on her mouth, "No."

He balled his hands into fists, still at either side of her head. "You're defying your King, you're defying your husband."

Her eyes flicked to his mouth and back. Her smile didn't drop. "Yes, I am."

He would have taken her right then and there, if not for the deep voice that interrupted them, coming from his right. He knew that voice very well, and it woke him from the daze Sansa caused as if he had been struck by lightning.

"Your grace," Tywin Lannister said.

He looked at his grandfather and then at his surroundings. Had he come to the Tower of the Hand? No, Sansa had caught up to him just as he was reaching the Grand Maester's laboratory. His grandfather was at Pycelle's door.

He looked back at Tywin and nodded, "Grandfather."

" _Lady_ Stark," Tywin said, sparing a glance to Sansa. Joffrey frowned at the emphasis put on the word 'lady'.

"Lord Hand," Sansa answered with a curtsy. She looked nervous, but surprisingly demure and poised for someone who had just been nearly groped against a wall. Even her hair didn't look a mess, coming down in loose waves. She had a gift for looking beautiful in pretty much any situation.

"I suppose you're here to see them," Tywin said, looking at them with a certain air of disdain that made Joffrey feel small and chided.

"Yes, Lord Lannister," Joffrey said, trying to sound confident and not really succeeding.

Tywin stepped away from the door and extended his arm, inviting them in. Joffrey walked in, going for a step that he tried to make imposing, and again not really succeeding. Sansa followed, her hands clasped in front of her.

Cersei and Tommen were in small beds, next to each other, and covered in blankets. They seemed asleep, and Pycelle was surveying them, sometimes raising their arms or opening their eyes. Both of them looked extremely pale, Cersei specially so. Their breathing was shallow, barely perceptible.

"What happened?" Joffrey asked, looking from one to the other. Seeing them, he felt the fatigue of all that had happened the previous night crashing down on him. Suddenly, he had to struggle to keep his eyes open.

"Essence of Nightshade, your grace," Pycelle answered, raising from his work to bow. "The Queen procured it from me before the battle."

"The... Queen?" Sansa asked from beside him, frowning.

The question made him frown too, and he looked at Pycelle for an explanation. "What are you saying?"

"That this was done by your own mother, your grace," Tywin interjected. He was looking at his daughter with something that could only be described as contempt. "If I were a betting man, I'd say that she panicked upon hearing that Stannis had breached the gates, and drank the essence so that she would be spared whatever fate she thought was going to befall her."

So nobody was targeting the royal family. Sansa was right, it was good to find out what happened to his mother and brother before locking her away. 'Sansa was right'? He frowned.

"Poor Tommen. She must have thought the same thing waited for him," Sansa said, looking at the Prince with pity.

Tywin turned to look at Sansa and spoke, "Indeed. Cersei was foolish, however. Stannis, for all his faults, is still a honorable man and a religious fanatic. He would've had nothing but a quick and painless death for the Prince. And he would have treated Cersei kindly, as she would have been a valuable hostage."

"Honorable?" Joffrey bristled. "You call honorable the man who wants to steal my throne?"

"Yes, your grace," Tywin answered, his stare cold and detached. "He's honorable, just not clever. He let himself believe the nasty lies about you and thinks it's his duty to take the throne."

Before Joffrey could rebuke him, Sansa cut in, "I don't think the Prince's death would have been painless. I heard that Stannis burns his enemies alive."

Tywin looked at Sansa, his gaze almost curious. "Yes, Lady Stark, but I believe Stannis would've spared Tommen that, if only for the sake of not offending House Lannister and reaching peace more quickly."

His grandfather looked from Sansa to Joffrey. Joffrey frowned again, and set his eyes on his sleeping brother. "Are they going to be well?"

"It's too soon to tell, your grace," Pycelle answered, "but I think that, if they make it through the day, they will live."

"That's wonderful news," Sansa commented, still pointedly looking only at Tommen, not sparing even one glance in Cersei's direction.

Tywin arched an eyebrow. "If they make it, my lady, if they make it."

Sansa smiled at Tywin and held his penetrating gaze, "Yes, my lord."

Joffrey looked from his wife to his grandfather and then back to Sansa. He shook his head and said, "Grandfather, did you want to speak to me?"

"Yes, your grace. May you follow me to the Tower of the Hand?" Tywin answered, already going for the door.

Before Joffrey had the chance to bid Sansa to follow, Tywin turned back and said, "I think the lady may join us, some of the matters we're discussing concern her too."


	8. Margaery I

The journey had been long and trying, specially given that she needed to make sure they weren't followed by any Lannister scouts. So far, Loras seemed to have made sure of getting rid of any of them surveying their route. Finally, after almost a week of heavy riding, the tents of the Northern army came into view, illuminated by the final rays of twilight and some torches that had already been lighted. She was close, she would finally fulfill her heart's desire and make her family proud and even more powerful.

She was still carrying both missives in her hand. She had read them enough times to memorize them, but still held them close as a token of confidence, a way to tell herself she'd succeed. She looked at the first one again.

_Dear Lady Olenna Tyrell,_

_I hope this letter finds you with the utmost health, I hope I get to see you soon as I think I can count you as one of my dearest friends._

_Alas, I must bring bad news to you, hoping that you'll remember a friend who let you know of the deception you're being subjected to._

_King Joffrey is no longer a bachelor, he married Sansa Stark secretly in the middle of the night, and he has no intention of repudiating her._

_I wish I had found out about this sooner, but sadly I was away from King's Landing at the time. I do know that Lord Lannister has proposed a marriage alliance to you._

_As you can see, this alliance will not be fulfilled; I hope this information will be helpful to you and highlights how loyal I am to our friendship._

_P. Baelish_

Margaery couldn't help but admire the man's ability to be a slimy upjumped cunt even in letter -she was sure he and her grandmother had never even exchanged correspondence, let alone meeting in person- but she was still grateful for the information. Her grandmother had promptly gone to make plans so she, Margaery, could still be queen. Some of those plans were rather unsavory, so much so that her father and brother objected to them categorically, and Margaery was not particularly fond of them either. She didn't know Sansa Stark, but still didn't want her dead just because she was a prisoner of the Lannisters.

They were already considering the Stark option when the second letter arrived the very next day. She flipped the second missive to the front.

_Dear Lady Margaery Tyrell,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, my beloved lady._

_I've been considering the situation, as I'm sure you and your family have done, and I think I can arrange for Robb Stark to give my lady an audience._

_His mother and I have always been very close and, if you present this missive from me, she can intercede in your favor to her son._

_All I want is for you to remember a humble lord by the time the swords are sheathed. Call me a romantic, but all I want is to find love._

_It's a gallant goal I'm sure the lovely people of the Reach can understand._

_P. Baelish_

Loras didn't need much convincing afterwards, as he still remembered that Lady Catelyn Stark had approached Renly before their King's untimely death. Olenna still wasn't sure, but ultimately the voices of her son and grandchildren made her acquiesce, as long as they listened to her in how to go about things. Olenna answered to Littlefinger personally, promising him "his heart's desire" if things went well for House Tyrell, and planned how Margaery's party and their armies should move.

It was Olenna's idea to move their armies farther than they were from King's Landing, despite Loras's protests -he very much wanted to kill Stannis personally and as soon as possible- so that, when the Lannisters called for them, they would have an excuse to take longer to arrive and, meanwhile, the factions that would be opposing them from then on weakened each other some more. The new position had a double purpose too: it was used to smuggle Margaery and her guard into the Riverlands, right behind the Lannister lines and under Tywin Lannister's nose.

If Margaery said so herself, it was a very good plan, specially since it needed to be thrown together at a haste. The one thing Margaery wanted, besides being queen, was to be as cunning as her grandmother.

She had to be cunning now more than ever, as now everything hung on her shoulders. She hoped Robb Stark wouldn't need too much convincing, but she would use every tool and word at her disposal to make him accept a wedding. She also needed to convince his mother, which would hopefully be easy if Baelish wasn't lying. A very, very rare notion, all things considered.

Two guards approached her procession.

"Identify yourselves!" The first man shouted.

"We're the guard of Lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden," her herald answered.

Both Stark men looked at her, eyes wide and mouths open, and the second one immediately ran for the camp. She smiled kindly to the first man, which made him blush and look down, while they waited for the other guard to come back.

Indeed he did after a few minutes, and not alone; an older man with pale blue eyes and a receding hairline came to them, surrounded by a guard of his own. His eyes, that seemed eternally half-lidded, widened for a moment when he saw her.

"My Lady," he greeted, bowing while still atop his horse, "I am lord Roose Bolton, general of King Robb's armies."

"Lord Bolton," Margaery nodded and gave him a smile similar to the one she had given the guard. Bolton didn't blush nor look down; he merely nodded again, towards her companions.

"My lady, before I can let you in the camp, I must ask what has brought you this far up the Riverlands."

"Of course, my lord, I'm requesting an audience with His Grace. I believe if these letters are taken to Queen Catelyn, she will understand the situation," Margaery answered, matching Bolton's penetrating gaze with her own.

She offered him the missives, which he took and was about to read before she spoke again, "It's a matter of utmost secrecy, my lord. I'd rather only the eyes of the Queen Mother and the King saw them, at least for now."

Bolton nodded and handed her back the letters, before nodding to his men, "Take the Lady's companions in and see that camp is set for them. My Lady, if you mind, I can take you to the Queen Mother."

"You're too kind, my lord," Margaery answered, steering her horse to follow Bolton. She didn't like riding one bit and felt sore all over, but it had been necessary; a carriage would have been too slow.

They approached a tent that seemed far too small for a Queen, and there were two guards at the entrance. Margaery frowned.

"My lady," Bolton said as a farewell after indicating to the two men to let her inside. Margaery, having dismounted, performed a perfunctory curtsy and watched as Bolton left, taking her horse with him.

She nodded at the two men and entered the tent. Catelyn Stark was sitting at a small desk, reading a book under candlelight. Upon Margaery's entrance, Catelyn lifted her eyes and, recognizing her, her mouth dropped.

The queen rose to her feet and curtsied, "Queen Margaery!"

Margaery curtsied in response and, smiling kindly, corrected, "'Lady', your grace. I technically am no queen anymore."

"I know, my lady, I'm very sorry for your loss," Catelyn looked down. She did indeed seemed sorry.

"Thank you, your grace," Margaery looked intently at Catelyn and continued, "now that we are on the subject... You're one of two people in the Realm who saw it happen, your grace, can you explain?"

"It was all so sudden, my lady," Catelyn sighed as she sat back down. She gestured for Margaery to sit on the bed before continuing, "Lady Brienne had just helped King Renly out of his armor when... something, some sort of shadow creature went into the tent. Before any of us knew what was happening, that... _thing_ had stabbed Renly and disappeared."

Margaery sat on the bed, listening intently, and spoke, "A shadow creature? I had heard that foul magic had been involved. Did... did it really look like Stannis Baratheon?"

Catelyn met her eye and nodded, "Indeed, it did, my lady."

"That's... that's unspeakable. Not only are Stannis and that Red Woman who accompanies him courting black magic, but he's a kinslayer," Margaery said, confident. Lady Catelyn had no reason to lie about that and there was no talk in the Reach of Catelyn Stark having lost her mind.

"You're correct, my lady," Catelyn said. After a pause, she continued, "If I may ask now, what brings you here?"

Margaery looked down at the missives and, wordlessly, passed them to Catelyn. Catelyn read them quickly and an expression of utter fear and sorrow settled on her face.

"Sansa," Catelyn whispered after a while.

"I'm so sorry, your grace," Margaery offered, "If it helps, maybe Tywin Lannister won't allow for the new queen to be mistreated?"

Catelyn nodded, seemingly more for politeness than for having believed her.

After a pause, Catelyn let out a trembling sigh and cleared her throat before speaking up, "I assume you need to speak to my son now."

"Indeed, I have the understanding that he's promised to another, but I believe I can make a good case for my family," Margaery said, smiling slightly.

"Don't worry about the Freys. Walder Frey might be a self-important old ball of grease, but even he will accept that he's nothing next to the Great Houses," Catelyn said, her expression turning into one of annoyance. Margaery didn't know much about the Freys beyond their keep, but evidently they were unsavory people.

She exhaled a breath she had been holding, "That's good to know, so I take it you support this proposition?"

"I do, my lady," Catelyn answered, trying and failing to smile before looking down at the letters again.

Margaery stood up to leave, but turned back around as she reached the tent's entrance, "If I may ask, your grace, why are there guards outside your tent?"

Catelyn looked at Margaery, her expression unreadable, "Because I'm under watch, my lady. My son has deemed that I should no longer be unsupervised."

Margaery widened her eyes and asked, despite herself, "Is there a reason? ... I'm sorry, your grace, it's not my place to ask."

"No trouble at all, my lady," Catelyn looked at the candle and, when Margaery had turned around to leave, whispered, "It's because, in a moment of folly, I let the Kingslayer free."

Margaery's mouth dropped open. She had to compose herself before facing Catelyn again, "I see, I take it that you saw it as a way to get your daughter back?"

Catelyn's head snapped towards Margaery, eyes wide. Evidently, she hadn't expected Margaery to guess it on her own; Margaery congratulated herself inwardly. "Daughters," Catelyn corrected softly, "but yes. Robb and his advisers didn't see it that way, however."

"Of course," Margaery nodded from the entrance, "I'm not surprised, your grace. But _I_  see it that way and you can count me as your ally."

This time, Catelyn did manage to smile, and nodded at Margaery. Margaery curtsied one last time and left.

She didn't have to spend much time looking for Robb Stark, as she saw him coming out of a tent not far off, walking alongside a woman. Roose Bolton was near that tent too, apparently having been waiting.

It was difficult to tell under torchlight, but the woman seemed to have dark hair and eyes, and olive skin. Despite wearing a very plain dress, she walked with the easy grace of someone from the nobility. Margaery pegged her as Dornish; but the thing that made her face go pale was that the woman and the King were walking pretty much shoulder to shoulder, and the woman was smiling and whispering at the King, who was wearing a sad smile of his own.

"Oh no," Margaery said to herself in a low voice, "have I come too late to claim yet _another_ King?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very much don't like author's notes, but I feel this chapter merits them:
> 
> Don't worry, this story won't turn into a Robb/Margaery or Robb/Talisa story.
> 
> The focus will still very much be on Joffrey and Sansa, but I needed to deal with the ripples caused by the divergence. I tried three times to address this development in a second-hand way (being told to Joffrey or Sansa) before I decided that it just wasn't going to work. That's why it took me longer than usual to update too.
> 
> Next chapter will be from Robb's perspective and then I'm 99% sure I will go back to King's Landing.


	9. Robb I

"Your grace, my lady," Bolton greeted, sparing only the shortest glance at Talisa.

"My lord," he and Talisa said at the same time.

"You have visitors, your grace," Bolton informed. "I would have informed you earlier but you were... busy."

Talisa blushed and looked down, and Robb sent Bolton a warning glance. Bolton only nodded slightly.

"Who is it?" Robb asked.

"Lady Margaery Tyrell, of Highgarden," Bolton answered, looking behind him and extending his arm, gesturing at the young woman approaching.

Robb's mouth dropped open. What was the lady of the Reach doing in his camp?

Margaery curtsied as she reached them. "Your grace, lord Bolton and... my lady?" She greeted.

"Talisa Maegyr," Talisa answered easily. At Margaery's slight frown, Talisa continued, "from Volantis."

"Lady Talisa," Margaery nodded with a smile, before extending her hand to Robb.

Robb kissed her knuckles and, subtly, looked her up and down. He couldn't help but notice how pretty she was. Brown hair framing a dainty and delicate face and her dress, albeit practical for riding and covered in a cloak, hugged her form, generous of hip and breast. Her pale blue eyes shone with a vivaciousness that almost seemed unbecoming of a Lady; and her smile was a bit lopsided, as if she knew what he was thinking.

"My lady," Robb said after standing back straight, "to what do we owe your visit?"

"I'd love to discuss it with you, your grace. In private," Margaery answered, pointedly sparing smiles at both Talisa and Bolton.

"Of course, my lady. I will talk to you later," Robb said softly to Talisa.

"Your grace, my lady, my lord," Talisa curtsied and walked away, going towards the tents where the sick and injured were kept. Robb looked at her go.

"My lord, my lady," Bolton bid his own farewell, bringing Robb back to the situation. Robb nodded, trying not to blush, and Bolton bowed and walked away.

"My lady, if you may," Robb addressed Margaery, offering his arm. They walked arm in arm towards the war council tent, which was currently empty as almost all of his bannermen had retired to sleep.

"I'm all ears, my lady," Robb said as he sat down at the head of the table. Once again, he looked over at their map, surveying their increasingly precarious position.

"Your grace," Margaery said, also glancing at the map before looking at Robb with another one of her cunning smiles, "I've come to propose a military alliance."

Robb looked at her for a moment. "You mean an alliance between the North and the Reach?"

"Indeed, your grace. My family controls the largest army, with it and the combined forces of the North and Riverlands -and with you and my brother commanding them- the Lannisters won't last too long," Margaery said, surveying the map again.

 It sounded almost too good to be true. "I heard that, just yesterday, your brother helped Tywin Lannister fend off Stannis Baratheon," he said with a frown.

"As far as the Lannisters know, we still think I'm to marry Joffrey. They're trying to deceive us so we established a little deception of our own. Why do you think that, before the battle, Loras moved his army westward, _away_ from King's Landing?" She answered, arching an eyebrow.

"Wait, I thought my sister was to marry Joffrey, what are you talking about?" Robb asked, trying not to picture, for the umpteenth time, Sansa being tortured by those people.

"Oh, excuse me, your grace, I forgot they're keeping it a secret," Margaery said gently. "Your sister is _already_ married to Joffrey."

No, that could not be. His sister... No. He stood up and looked down at her. "How do you know this?"

Margaery wordlessly handed him two letters; he felt hopelessness spread around his body with each word he read. "How do you know that Littlefinger isn't lying?"

"That is a real possibility," Margaery admitted. "But what would he get out of that? He was the one who Tywin sent to propose a marriage alliance to my family, and he didn't seem particularly troubled by that prospect."

That made sense, which meant that Sansa was now married to that monster. "But why? If they were intending to set my sister aside, why did they change their plans all of a sudden?" He asked, more to himself than to her.

"That is for you to ask them, your grace. Something I very much intend to help with," Margaery said. "We already started on it, my brother deliberately made it more difficult to himself to reach King's Landing so that the Lannister and Baratheon armies could exhaust each other some."

He had heard that Stannis had managed to breach the walls of King's Landing, and that Tywin only arrived in time to prevent the Red Keep from being taken. "That sounds encouraging, my lady, but how do I know you're not deceiving me too?"

Margaery smirked. "For one, I am here, your grace. I'm willing to trust you with my own life, that should tell you something. And, while helping you retrieve your sisters and punish the Lannisters is a lofty goal, my family has greater ambitions than honor."

The Tyrells did have a reputation for only supporting the stronger side, which he wasn't right then. Ignoring the comment about honor, he said, "This is where you tell me at what cost the alliance comes, isn't it?"

"Indeed, your grace," Margaery said, tilting her head slightly. "My only want is to be _the_ queen. To settle the alliance, I'm even willing to do it right now, if you have a septon at hand. Or in a godswood, if you prefer to celebrate the wedding on your traditions."

He felt all air leaving his lungs. Marrying Margaery Tyrell. He was promised to a Frey girl. And Talisa... "My... my lady, I... I can't. I'm promised to..."

"Another, I know," Margaery interrupted. "Your mother told me, and she also told me that even Walder Frey will accept that a proposition of the Tyrells trumps whatever he could offer. I will even make sure myself that he gets another advantageous marriage agreement in compensation... Once I'm the Queen, of course."

He found himself at a loss for words. Sitting back down, he cleared his throat and whispered, "My lady, is it possible for you to wait until tomorrow for an answer?"

He didn't miss the slight frown that crossed Margaery's features, but her radiant smile came back just as fast. "Of course, your grace. I'll eagerly await for your answer."

She stood up then, and he followed right away. "Please, allow me to accompany you and make sure you receive proper accommodations."

"You're too kind, your grace," Margaery said, taking his arm.

Once he saw that one of the biggest tents was prepared for Margaery and the handmaiden she brought, he walked towards his mother's tent, pointedly trying not to look towards the injured camp or Talisa's small tent. his mother was getting ready to settle down.

She looked at him and nodded, slightly. He nodded back. "Mother."

"Robb." She looked at him carefully. "From your face I assume that Lady Tyrell already spoke to you."

"Yes, mother, Sansa..." He said, his voice strained.

"Is now the Queen in King's Landing," Catelyn completed. "And Tywin Lannister is there now, I don't think he'll allow the queen to be mistreated. Even if she's no longer the Queen he had intended."

"What if they have her killed?" Robb asked, sitting in the bed. His mother visibly shuddered.

"Sansa is still a valuable hostage," she said, seemingly trying to convince the both of them. "They won't do any lasting damage to her, specially now if she's their Queen."

"And Arya?" Robb asked.

"Nobody's heard about her in months; I do believe she managed to escape from them," Catelyn said, sounding more confident. "Not even Cersei or the Imp were able to control her. Had she died, the Imp would have already managed to tell your entire army just to break morale."

That's what he had been suspecting too, but hearing it from another -and his mother at that- helped ease the weight on his shoulders.

"Now," Catelyn continued, forcing a small smile. "The Tyrells' proposal..."

"Do you really think it won't be dishonorable to repudiate the Freys?" He asked with zero conviction, he made his mind regarding that pact the moment he kissed Talisa earlier. Margaery arrived literally at the last possible moment to throw his mind into turmoil.

"Walder Frey won't go to war against the conjoined armies of the North, Riverrun and the Reach," Catelyn said dismissively. "Robb, you're my firstborn and I know you better than anyone. You no longer care about the Freys; it's not them what's troubling you," she added shrewdly.

Robb flushed and avoided his mother's gaze. "Mother, Talisa..."

"Won't help you get your sisters, my daughters, back," Catelyn said with finality.

"Neither is releasing the Kingslayer," he shot back, still looking at the floor.

"Probably not, and if that was a mistake -which will surely be if you accept Lady Margaery's proposition- then I will live with that regret for the rest of my life. But even then, losing that leverage is all the more reason to accept this new support we're getting," she said, putting her hand under his chin and making him look at her.

"But I love her, mother," he whispered lamely.

"I already told you once, Robb. Love is not a luxury Kings get in their marriage, unless they're lucky and manage to cultivate it. But Kings do have _other_ luxuries..." She said, looking at him pointedly after sitting on her chair.

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

Catelyn closed her eyes and breathed deeply, steeling herself. "Nothing is stopping you from visiting more than one bed, son..."

"Mother!" He half-yelled, standing up. He was blushing furiously. "That... that would be a dishonor to both of them and to me! You ought to know..."

"Indeed, I ought to know," she whispered, looking at the floor. "Which means you should listen to me in particular on that matter. I did forgive your father for that, as you well know."

"But Jon..." He said, frowning.

"I never grew to love him, that is true. I was even cold to him, and sometimes I fear that the reason all of this tragedy has befallen us is because I couldn't love that boy," his mother said, still pointedly avoiding his gaze. "But you are King -if you're wise to accept the Tyrell girl, then King of far more than the North. You don't have to keep all your children together under the same roof."

He sat back down and put his hand on his mouth, "But what if they say..."

"That's something you must speak to them, not to me," Catelyn said, meeting his eye. "For what it's worth, Margaery Tyrell _was_ married to Renly Baratheon, I don't think she will mind sharing her husband as long as she's queen. She's a very astute woman, as if you needed more reason to accept this marriage."

He breathed deeply and stood up. "You're correct. Thank you mother, good night."

"Good night, Robb. I'll pray to both the Old Gods and the New that you make the right decision," his mother replied. He nodded and left the tent.

This time, he resolutely walked to Talisa's tent. Much like his mother, she was preparing for bed; he tried to ignore the fact that she was wearing only a very thin shift.

"Your grace," she greeted, performing a slight curtsy.

"My lady." His voice was coarse.

"How may I help you?" Talisa said with curiosity and a slight blush.

"I... I need to speak to you."

"Of course, your grace," she said, sitting on her bed and pointing to the small chair. He moved the few supplies that were there to the floor and sat down, facing her.

"I told you earlier that I didn't wish to marry the Frey girl," he started. "You told me that you too didn't want me to marry her."

"I did, your grace," she nodded.

"Margaery Tyrell, the Lady who arrived today, wants to marry me too," he said, seeing no point in stalling.

Talisa's eyes widened before she looked at the floor. "And you wish to marry her?"

"No, I don't," he admitted.

She looked back up, a glint of hope in her eyes. He continued before she found her voice, "But this marriage would be far, far more advantageous than one with the Freys. Lady Tyrell is the daughter of the Lord Paramount of the Reach; and with her comes his army, the largest of the Seven Kingdoms. They're also strategically positioned to allow me to trap the Lannisters in two fronts and destroy them. Victory in this war would be all but guaranteed if this alliance came to pass."

She looked at him intently during his explanation and, once he was done, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. He felt his insides twisting when a single tear escaped her left eye; she wiped it quickly. "Then you must marry her, your grace. Whatever brings this war to a sooner end will be the best for the people -there won't be any more massacres for me to pick the pieces- and for you and your family."

"But, Talisa," he said, almost pleading. "I don't love her, I love..."

"And I you, your grace," she interrupted, with a sad smile. "But you are King, your responsibilities go beyond my feelings or yours."

"I can't," he whispered, averting his gaze. "I can't lose you."

She looked at him intently for a long moment before standing up and walking towards him, "You won't, Robb."

"But, Talisa..." She kissed him before he could say anything else.

She broke the kiss to whisper, "If she doesn't mind, then neither will I."

He went to kiss her again but she put a finger on his mouth. "But you must speak to her."

"What if she does mind?" He asked, his voice heavy.

"You're still King, as much as I don't like saying that," she answered. "But don't deal in hypotheticals, your grace. Speak to her."

He nodded and stood back up. Before leaving, he did kiss her again.

He woke up before dawn after a restless night; the time to think having helped him none. Ultimately, he chose to listen to his mother and his lover and, after getting dressed, he walked to Margaery's tent. Just as she reached the entrance, she walked out, looking just as radiant as the night before, and with an even more flattering dress. He had the suspicion that she had been expecting him.

"Your grace," she greeted with a curtsy.

"My lady, may I speak to you in private?" He asked.

"Of course," she said and beckoned him into her tent. She sent her handmaiden away and gracefully sat on her bed. He sat on the bed too, at her insistence, and faced her.

"My lady," he started. "Your proposition is indeed one that is difficult, pretty much impossible to refuse."

"But?" She asked, arching an eyebrow. She didn't look as disappointed as he expected, which encouraged him.

"I love another, my lady," he informed simply.

"I noticed, your grace," she said as she smiled the same shrewd smirk he was already growing familiar with.

He widened his eyes. "Did you?"

"Of course, your grace. My grandmother taught me well about the ways of men, you looked at Lady Talisa with nothing short of deep affection," she answered, her smirk not dropping even a smidge. Like his mother had said, Lady Margaery was a very shrewd woman.

"You understand why that makes me doubt your proposal, then," he pointed out.

"Actually not, your grace," she said as she walked towards the wall of the tent. She more like strutted, actually, before turning back to face him. "I don't see why that has to be a problem."

"My lady?" He was unable to think of anything more eloquent to say.

"Your grace, you are a good looking man, but I just met you. You can be certain I hold no love for you either, why would I expect you to love me? As for Lady Talisa, my previous husband also loved another," she informed, her tone almost wistful.

Margaery Tyrell was full of surprises. "So what are you saying, my lady?"

"That I don't mind if you love another, I don't mind if I have to share your bed," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then her smirk came back. "As long as I'm your wife and it's my children who become your heirs."

His eyes widened even more and he opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to find words. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I understand, my lady."

"So?" She asked, arching her right eyebrow.

He stood up and offered his arm. "If you truly have no inconvenience with Lady Talisa, then I... gladly accept the alliance."

Her smirk then became a radiant, honest smile as she circled his arm with hers. "Then let us look for a septon, _Robb_."


	10. Joffrey IV

"Varys," Tywin greeted upon entering his office. His grandfather seemed unsurprised at seeing the eunuch, while Joffrey himself was wondering how the bald man even managed to sneak into The Hand's office.

"Lord Hand," Varys greeted, bowing; upon doing so, a weird but not unpleasant smell reached Joffrey's nose. Then Varys noticed that Joffrey and Sansa were behind Tywin. "Your graces," he said, bowing again.

Joffrey raised his eyebrows and looked at Sansa, who was herself frowning but smiling elatedly at being addressed as 'your grace.'

Joffrey smirked and said, nodding, "Varys."

"To what do we owe your visit, Lord Varys," Tywin said while walking around his desk and sitting. Joffrey considered sitting himself, he was really very tired, but decided against it upon seeing Sansa made no move to sit.

"I'm afraid I'm bringing bad news, my lord," Varys said, looking from Tywin to Joffrey. No, not to Joffrey, the eunuch was looking at Sansa.

Tywin looked at Varys, not hiding his exasperation. "Alright, out with it. I don't have all day; there are already plenty of 'bad news' I have to deal with."

"My lord, your grace," Varys said, turning to Joffrey. "I'm afraid that the Tyrells have betrayed you."

Betrayed him? But how, they had arrived to beat Stannis away. He looked at Sansa -who seemed as confused as he- and his grandfather, who was glaring at his desk.

Before he could ask the question, Tywin spoke. "That I was suspecting, but I assume you have better information."

"Indeed, my lord. Turns out the reason why Loras Tyrell moved his army westward was so that he could have enough men behind your own lines to send his sister north with endangering her," Varys informed.

To the men's surprise, Sansa was the one to speak, "North? You mean to the Riverlands?"

"Aye, your grace," Varys said.

Sansa spared a glance at Joffrey, who was still trying to make sense of what Varys was saying, and then looked back to the master of whisperers. "Isn't there where my brother is?"

Fuck. The Tyrells wanted to ally themselves with the Stark traitor. That prompted Joffrey to ask, "Then why did they help us against my uncle?"

"Because if the Tyrells are going to pledge for Robb Stark, they need Stannis out of the way," Tywin said, finally lifting his eyes from his desk, but still with the same furious expression. "They arrived as late as possible to still present the facade of being our allies while both we and Stannis lost plenty of men."

That was underhanded, devious... and brilliant. He almost couldn't believe that his grandfather had been played so easily. But then again, his grandfather was an old and increasingly useless man, he needed better counsel. He spoke up, "But why would he send his sister personally? Wasn't she intended for me?"

"Evidently, they must've found out about your elopement," Tywin said, sending a glacial look to his and Sansa's way. There was so much contempt in the look, he couldn't help but drop his head in shame. Shame he didn't understand -he certainly didn't regret marrying Sansa- but Tywin just seemed to have that effect on people.

Sansa, despite her blush at Tywin's glare, spoke again, "Are you saying that she's there to marry my brother?"

"That's the most likely possibility, my lady," Varys said. "If the raven I just got is accurate, she will be arriving at your brother's camp in a matter of hours."

But that meant they still had time. "So she hasn't reached Stark yet, is there something we can do?" Fuck, if he wasn't so tired, he could think more clearly.

"She's on the move, so we can't contact her. Besides, there's nothing your grace could offer at this point that she wouldn't already have considered, I think," Varys said, in an overly polite tone.

Isn't a Prince's hand enough? What was it with his subjects and their looking above their station?

"The only place we could send a raven to would be Riverrun anyway, they're closest to Stark. And that would just be informing him that he has a valuable prisoner approaching; assuming he is disinclined to acquiesce to Lady Tyrell's proposal. Given his position, that's unlikely," Tywin commented somberly.

"His position?" Sansa asked, she seemed to regret the question as soon as she asked it. Joffrey was curious himself, whatever meant winning the war against Stark was good news to him; he was sick of the Northern savage winning battle after battle.

Tywin sent another hateful glare Sansa's way, as if she was at fault of his mistakes in the battlefield, and replied, "With Stannis defeated, we can focus all our forces on him, and he's already spread thin by the Ironborn attacks."

"Ironborn attacks?" Joffrey asked. "What are you talking about?"

"I see Tyrion's ravens were not all lies," Tywin stood up, looked at his grandson with disgust and walked to his window. "You're awfully uninformed, your grace."

"Well, informe me!" Joffrey demanded, furious.

"The Young Wolf was stupid enough to trust that Greyjoy boy and sent him to his father, Balon. The boy kraken betrayed him and took Winterfell," Tywin informed sharply.

Robb Stark had lost his Seat then, that was great news. Even if Stark got the Tyrells helping him, he had lost a lot of his power. He was about to speak up to celebrate when he heard Sansa's voice again.

"What happened to my little brothers?" She asked in a whisper. Joffrey turned to look at her and saw absolute fear in her eyes.

Tywin looked away from the window and towards Sansa. His expression never changing from cold disdain, he said, "They tried to escape, but Greyjoy captured them, hung them from the battlements and burned them for all to see."

Sansa choked out a sob, her eyes filled with tears and she dropped to her knees, crying brokenly. But his grandfather wasn't done, "I like to think this is what happens, _Lady_ Stark, when your family raises in rev..."

"Enough!" Joffrey yelled, seething. He wasn't going to have his queen suffering, not even by his grandfather's words. He ignored Tywin's shocked expression and walked to Sansa, offering his hand. Sansa, almost mechanically, took it and stood up, and Joffrey helped her sit on one of the chairs in front of the desk. She remained there, looking at her lap and still letting the tears flow. He really didn't enjoy her crying visage, but knew that there would be no point in asking her to stop. He would never understand why she cared so much about her family, but she cared anyway; maybe women were just made that way.

Forcing himself to look away from his wife, he turned to his grandfather, who was staring back at him with a glare that matched his own. After a moment, Joffrey broke the silence, "So the Greyjoys are attacking the Starks and the Tyrells want to ally with them, you haven't answered if there's anything we can do to stop that last thing from happening."

"It's already too late to stop it, your grace," Varys interjected.

"What if I spoke to my brother?" Sansa whispered, seeming far calmer all of a sudden.

All three men looked at her as if she had sprouted another head. Joffrey was the first one to speak, "Talk to him about what?"

Sansa looked at Joffrey and then at Varys, pointedly ignoring Tywin. "Lord Varys, if my brother were to get the support of the Reach, how much of a threat would he impose on King's Landing?"

Tywin, who was looking back out the window, was the one to answer, "Enough to probably rally the other Kingdoms and take the city."

"So it would ensure his victory," Sansa said, more to herself than anyone else.

Was she going to betray him? Was she going to deliver him to her brother in a silver platter? He would not have it. "You aren't going to speak to him, I don't allow it."

Sansa made a dismissive gesture, "I'm not going to betray you."

Joffrey and Varys both raised their eyebrows. "Then, if I may ask, your grace, what do you want to talk to your brother about?" The eunuch asked.

"Peace," Sansa said. "Even if he were to win, he could still be killed by any stray arrow and I don't want more of my family dead. I saw the horror that war brings and I don't want anyone else in my family suffering that anymore."

"How do you expect to achieve 'peace'?" Joffrey snapped. "Your brother won't stop until I'm dead, he started his rebellion just so he could kill me for having your traitor father execu..."

"Stop!" Sansa yelled. She yelled. At him. She had never stopped herself from speaking back to him, but this was the first time she outright yelled, and in front of two members of his Small Council. It was so brazen that for a moment he did shut up, his mouth hanging open. "I don't want to hear more ill words about my father. Like Lord Tywin said about Stannis, he was a honorable man; he just happened to believe that _lie_ and acted according to his honor. I'm sorry that he believed it and wish he hadn't, he'd still be alive; but it's not fair from you to keep tormenting me about him even after all this time. You've done enough."

He didn't like the way she said the word 'lie', as if she was putting in doubt that that monstrous deception was indeed a lie. He was about to yell back at her when Tywin spoke, "You haven't answered how you expect to achieve this peace, Lady Stark."

"I still don't know how exactly. But I know there must be a way for this war to be over without Robb or Joffrey dying. There must be," She said, deflated but still not looking at Tywin's direction.

She didn't want him dead? Well, he already knew that -she of course loved him- but hearing her say it caused a strange feeling in his stomach.

"There is," Tywin said. "By moving against the Tyrells while they move against us."

"What do you mean?" Joffrey asked, deciding he would speak to Sansa later, in private.

Tywin looked at his grandson with disdain for a moment before going back to his desk. Joffrey, however, was still too angry at his grandfather to be cowered anymore and noticed, for the first time, that he actually matched Tywin's height now, so he felt even less intimidated with each passing second. The confident sensation increased once his grandfather sat down.

Tywin was deliberately not looking at Sansa -even though she was sitting pretty much in front of him- while she herself kept her eyes trained on her crossed arms.

"It's obvious that Mace Tyrell's children are as stupid as mine, but I can exploit whatever care he may have for them by making him choose between them. If he were to choose his daughter, that would doom his son. If he were to choose his son, that would doom his daughter. The situation will put him in a position precarious enough for he to attempt to talk Robb Stark into negotiating," Tywin explained.

"How, if I may ask, do you intend to accomplish this, my lord?" Varys asked. It was obvious that Varys had already figured out Tywin's plan, and the question was just courtesy. Joffrey was annoyed by the evident silent understanding.

"Loras Tyrell's garrison is still within King's Landing, and he himself was stupid enough not to have left immediately after the battle was over," Tywin informed.

"So what?" Joffrey snapped. "He still has his army, he could leave or attack us before we can do anything. He would just have to wait for his sister to confirm that she convinced Robb Stark."

"Indeed, but his sister is still hours from reaching the Northern camp. I already suspected foul play from them, so I deliberately set the camps for ours to surround his. I'm confident my soldiers will be ready before his sister has a chance to contact him," Tywin said with a cruel smile.

"Ready for what?" Sansa asked, finally lifting her eyes towards Tywin. Tywin himself looked back at her with the same cruel glint in his eyes.

"Once they get confirmation from me, they will attack the Tyrell soldiers. We may lose many soldiers if the reachmen don't surrender, but Loras Tyrell won't be leaving King's Landing, at least not alive."


End file.
